What John Can't See, Sherlock Observes
by JHWforever
Summary: John doesn't know he is bisexual but Sherlock does. Fluff, mild swearing, slash, men going at it eventually. I warned you ;)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

All John could smell, feel, see was garbage. He could also see Sherlock standing in the middle of filthy puddle covered in dirt, sticky and stinking - oh John just had smelled it- substances. John stood as far away as he could from Sherlock because whenever he came around he smacked John's back, ruffled his hair like a parent would do when child scores a goal in football or simply left his filthy hand lingering on small of his back. Scotland Yarders around him were quite familiar with their body language by now but John surely wasn't. He tried to shrug off the touches and smiled awkwardly when a new yarder looked at them questioningly.

By now, John too was covered in garbage, all thanks to the run they had along the alley way chasing a supposed murderer. The man had escaped and now they were back where the crime had taken place. The end of a dark, filthy alley. John was provided with food, water and other sanitisation he needed during the case by Lestrade and usual hours to investigate being in the afternoon, he had plenty of time to catch up on sleep as his nights usually were spent listening to his flatmate ranting on about anything. _Anything._

"This is a very delicate case and I cannot afford to take risks," Lestrade had said. Sherlock, once he entered the scene, drunk high on adrenaline, left John alone and proceeded with deductions, monologues, insults to yarders; the usual. John took notes of things that might be useful for the case or for Sherlock to ridicule his intellect. Either ways, it was enough to keep him busy.

The case involved a 38 year old businessman- exactly the age of John's- murdered brutally with what seemed like a sharp instrument like knife which was not found anywhere near the crime scene. The man was found at the end of an alley in sitting position, his back resting against wall. His eyes were open quite horrifyingly. The victim, Jack Sean, was a successful businessman who was supposed to be on the flight to Moscow when he was murdered._ Jack is rather a good looking man_, John thought._ Tall, strong built, blue eyes and soft but strong features_. If John were gay then definitely Jack would be the man he would hit on in bar. But he is not. He likes women. Period.

"Here's your coffee, Mr. Watson" a young man from forensic, Michael, said.

"John, please." John took hold of the plastic cup and continued watching Sherlock hopping around in excitement.

"So… How long have you been together?" John looked at him questioningly. "You and Sherlock, that is" Michael spoke looking at his shoes as if there is Mona Lisa dancing.

"No, he isn't.. my _boyfriend_" John had difficulty saying the last word. He had an idea where this conversation was heading and how it was going to end. Michael eyes shot up to meet John's as if Dancing Mona Lisa no longer held any interest for him.

"He is not? Wow. But the media-"

"The media is full of lies" John said cutting him off. Michael considered it for a moment.

"John, I know this is utterly unprofessional but would you like to have coffee sometime?" John looked at the cup he was holding and back at Michael "Outside the crime scene, I mean" Michael released long held breath.

"I am sorry, Michael, but I'm not gay" John said smiling sympathetically.

Michael stared at him for full one minute, not understanding a word he heard.

"Oh- _oh_- yeah right. Of course." He stammered as he finally found his voice. He scratched his head in embarrassment.

"No worries." John touched Michael's arm with his free hand and smiled. No matter how many times he gets asked out by guys, it always ends up in awkwardness like this.

"But you two look quite _close, _like_ boyfriends_" Michael said after recovering from awkward agony.

"Do we?"

"Oh yeah, I mean, my gay-radar is not usually wrong" John laughed heartily. "I am sorry again for making you uncomfortable"

"Don't worry about it, Michael. Happens" John replied with a wink.

They stood in silence for some time.

"Fuck, I am going to miss tonight's game again" John said glancing at his watch.

"I haven't watched TV in a week. I missed Manchester's play last Sunday" He said kicking at dirt.

"Sherlock doesn't let me watch telly, you know that?"

"Yeah, I read your blog." Michael laughed. "Listen would you like to meet up for a game sometime in this week? I hardly have anyone around and watching game alone is kind of boring"

"I'd like that" John smiled lightly. He heard Lestrade's rough voice shouting for Michael.

"Here's my number. Call me or leave me a text. We'll arrange something" He hurriedly typed his number on mobile John offered him and jogged to where Lestrade was shouting. John saved the number and pocketed the phone. _Michael has a nice bum,_ he thought. _In a manly way,_ of course. Not that he likes men's bums. He likes women's. _Only_ women's. Period.

"Got yourself a date, I see?" Sherlock said in John's ears, dangerously close. John startled and before he recovered, Sherlock had his hand in John's pocket and was pulling out John's phone.

"What- _what are you doing? There are people around us" _John said trying to get Sherlock's hands off him.

"So?" Sherlock was typing frantically in John's phone.

"They think we are together, Sherlock. _And we are not_"

"But you do love the attention, John, don't you?"

"Attention? What-"

"Michael, John. You were checking him out. His bum to be precise." John glared at him. "The lingering hand on his arm, wink, angle of your knees… Would you like me to go on?"

"No, I wasn't _checking him out_" John took a step back, defiance filled his voice.

Sherlock didn't acknowledge John's words and continued typing.

"That is my phone."

"Oh really?" Still typing.

"Sherlock, give it back to me!" When Sherlock didn't, John launched himself on Sherlock, hands desperately trying to reach the phone. Sherlock effortlessly held the phone above John's hands' reach and looked down at John, smirking. _He is enjoying._

"Oh get a room, you two" Sally said with disgust. John distanced himself from Sherlock, threatening him with one last look and started to walk away. He heard Sherlock saying something to Sally but John didn't care. Sherlock was an annoying bastard.

* * *

That night when John finally got hands on the phone, he read what Sherlock had typed _and sent_ unfortunately.

**TO: Michael Johnson**

**John is not gay. He is bisexual. And clearly you are not the type he is looking for. He likes danger and you despise it. So better cancel whatever you have planned this week because I need John for some important work**.

* * *

**_A/N:_** Thank you so much for reading. :3 Would you like me to write the next chapter? Please review. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**WARNING:**** M rated stuff. If that's not your thing, I suggest you not to proceed.**

**Otherwise enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 2

John was an alert sleeper. Even the tiniest bit of noise would wake him up. _ Army habit._ When he got to get back to London, he was looking forward to long, peaceful hours of sleep. Once he returned, nightmares clogged his dreams and he completely despised nights. He could hardly believe this part of the daily chore he was looking forward to. And after meeting Sherlock, he spent his nights running on empty streets of London chasing gangsters, murderers, sharpshooter, deadly assassins hired for Sherlock's life. Or sometimes he spent his nights listening to Sherlock playing some angry, shrill note on his violin because he was thinking and it never matters to him if this activity is disturbing John. _Times like tonight._

The Jack Sean case had arrived in 221b, Baker Street less than 24 hours ago. That means, Sherlock had to think about it in the middle of the night- at 2.48 A. M., precisely- because it was too goddamn mainstream to sleep.

John sighed. He was still mad at Sherlock for sending that text to Michael and now he was trying hard not to think how fucking awkward tomorrow is going to be for him to be in Michael's eyesight. He sighed heavily as Sherlock started playing louder, if that was possible at all. He tried to remember his dream. There was Michael for sure. And there was kissing, definitely. Not kissing _Michael_, of course. Somebody else. But the lips that were on his were soft, like Michael's. No, he hadn't tasted Michael's mouth. But it must be soft and tender like his arse..

_What am I thinking?! Jesus, I need to shag off. Now! Sherlock Bloody Holmes has messed up my head already_, John thought. He could feel his boxers stretching.

He stumbled out of his bed and pulled a T shirt on. He could hear Sherlock had stopped playing only momentarily before resuming. He wondered if Sherlock knew he is awake. He hoped not.

John tiptoed downstairs. His hands were trying to cover the erection in utter desperation. Instantly he regretted not wearing pajamas. If Sherlock sees him with a hard on, God only knows what he will deduce then. He had reached the last step and retrieving them can cause unwanted noise. John chucked the thought and went as slowly as he could to the door.

Sherlock hadn't stopped playing. That was a good sign, meaning he was distracted and might as well not recognize John's presence. The door to the living room was left ajar, to John's delight. He peeked in. Sherlock was looking out of the window, his back to John, much more to John's delight. He walked as soundlessly as he could towards the bathroom, feeling proud for being successful so far in trespassing in his own flat noiselessly. Finally reaching the bathroom door across the living room, he glanced back at Sherlock. When Sherlock didn't show any signs of detection of John's existence there, he pushed the door, got in and closed it behind him. He sighed with relief. His hard was throbbing now. He slipped down his boxers and held his erection.

A moan escaped from his lips and violin stopped playing after just a moment.

John bit his lips. The outside was silent now. Not a single thing he could hear from where he stood. His hand was on the erection and other on the basin; his teeth protruding the lips around ages, eyes red, hair standing in all possible directions. Nothing happened for three long minutes. Sherlock must have dozed off, John thought. He let out a shaky breath and started stroking his member.

He first thought of Sarah; it was easier to wank while thinking stuff like this. He thought how great it would have been to get in her pants but unfortunately it had never happened. She had very soft lips indeed. John remembered kissing her when they parted ways. Much to John's distress, it was the only time they had kissed. What embarrassed him more was, she hadn't kissed him back. After Sarah, the things hadn't quite changed. He had gotten to kiss his date only after she broke up with him. And that would be the only time he would kiss her, owing to the fact that his love life had never been more than 24 hours with one girl. Why, you ask? Well, which girl would want to compete with Sherlock?! Whenever John went out on a date the flat burst in explosion, some experiment went horribly wrong at 221b, a murderer escaped who needs to be followed, new lead is found on the case or simply because Sherlock wanted John to fetch his phone from the next room. How on earth John's love life will survive disasters like these?!

John hadn't even had time to attend his high school reunion last week. He hadn't met Mike Stamford outside the Bart's. Every time they made plans Sherlock had to intervene and make them cancel. He desperately needed to go out without Sherlock and do something fun, _something normal_. Don't get the wrong idea. Sherlock was wonderfully idiot in his own way and John has always been fascinated by him but many times John gets tired of taking orders and being pushed. He was really looking forward to meeting with Michael. _Wonder who ruined the plan again. _

John realised thinking all this stuff wasn't helping his hard at all. He tried to concentrate on the dream. That is surely one place in John's life where some sexy stuff happens. He tried to picture the kissing. _Hot, wet lips crushed together in erotic desperation._ John started adding details. _Bodies pressed together, against each other. His hands were in his partner's hair. Black hair. Black curly hair. His partner had his long, slender, pale hands on John's arse. Caressing, pinching, spanking. _The fingers looked horribly familiar…

John shivered. He grabbed tissues hurriedly and covered the head. He could feel the pressure release slowly yet strongly. Painful yet pleasing.

When he was done cleaning, John pulled his boxers back on. He turned the doorknob ever slowly. No movement outside. The only light source was from table lamp. John tiptoed again across the room.

"You took your time" John shrieked at the sound, jumped with fright and hit his ankle against the door frame. He howled in pain.

"Jesus- what the fuck- You cared me!"

"Oh did I?" John stared at the pale figure of Sherlock sprawled on the sofa, eyes on the ceiling, hands in praying position. John waited until his breathing slowed down

"Who was in the dream this time?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Dream? What dream?"

"The dream you just had, John. The one which had you masturbating right away. Don't play stupid"

"I wasn't-"

"I just said _don't play stupid._ You were moaning like a dying cat for past 10 minutes"

"None of your-"

"Was it Lestrade?"

"Lestrade? Why on Earth-"

"No, it wasn't Lestrade, of course. He is hardly attractive" Sherlock scoffed before continuing "Who it must be then?" A moment of silence. "Was it me?" Sherlock sat up and looked at John.. _hopefully_.

John stared at him.

"It was me, wasn't it? Did I stroke you, John? Or did I enter?"

"Jesus, Sherlock, shut up!"

"Interesting" Apparently it was boring listening to John in 221b.

"No it wasn't _you_, Sherlock" He opened his mouth to protest but John spoke without halting to listen what he had to say "And it's none of your business." John spun around and started walking to his bedroom.

Sherlock followed.

"Of course, it is my business, John. _You were fantasising about me_"

"No, I didn't and for the love of God, leave me alone. I'm not talking to you" John bellowed but the footsteps following him never died.

"Why would you be upset with me?" Sherlock said, entering John's bedroom.

"You are the one to talk" John grumbled. He noticed Sherlock hadn't left yet and had no intentions whatsoever because now he had his one knee on the bed and it seemed like he was about to climb in. "Get off my bed, Sherlock, or else-"

"Else you will what? Kiss me to death?" Sherlock laughed ridiculously loud. Even though the prospect quivered his insides, John not tried to display it on face. _Sherlock looks… cute when he laughs_, John decided, _in very gentlemanly way_, he hastily added in his mind. _Very attractive indeed_.

"You can retrieve your tongue in, John"

John realized his tongue had been lolling out. He swallowed it with a lump that formed in throat.

_Why am I hard again?_

Frantically he tried to hide the evidence. He got under the quilt until his member was covered and then spoke calmly.

"Get out, Sherlock. I have no interest talking to you or listening to any bloody shit you've got to say"

Sherlock opened his mouth indifferent to John's words and John had a dangerous thought that he might comment on his rising member because Sherlock had fixed eyes on the quilt where John's hard was raising a tent.

"Don't say a word" John warned.

"I won't" Sherlock said replacing his foot on the floor again "Just one thing, though. We both know what's going on under the quilt and in your head, whether you accept it or not. You are not straight, John. You are bisexual and now that you don't get women to like you like you used to when you were young, you are inclining towards men. It was always there. Bisexuality. It has always been. Maybe you never accepted the fact in the past or maybe you didn't want people to think you are homosexual too just because your sister is. Whatever may be the reason, you are well old enough to make your own decisions."

Sherlock left the room. John had forgotten how to breathe.

_All those times when I thought men had nice bum, cute smile, attractive chest etcetera it wasn't what straight men think..?!_

_Jesus, I'm bi._

* * *

**A/N:**That was the first time I have ever written something so.. M. Please review if you liked/hated it. Your reviews mean a lot to me. :)

Thank you so much **reflectiveless, tricklethedragon1, LDWriter, Samzi and the Guest** for reviewing and ** , samzi (again), baru33ka, My sisters randomness im weird, reflectiveless (again)** for favourating! And thank you all who are following.

You guys make my days!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This chapter is betaed by Oh-FoR-mErLiN's-Sake. Thank you so much :3**

* * *

Chapter 3

It took John six long hours of pacing around in the room, sighing, cursing under breath, punching the bed, pillows, and whatever came in his way (he punched a wall too; the result was pretty obvious considering the swelling on the back of his fingers) to wrap his mind around the fact that what he had believed of his sexuality all his life was completely wrong. Yes, it was tough; at first all he felt was confusion. For a good portion of those six hours he revisited Sherlock's words and wondered if what the man had said was true at all. The last thing he needed was Sherlock to tell him what his sexual preferences were. It was embarrassing and John knew Sherlock wasn't going to make it any easier. For a second he imagined his flat mate announcing his marvelous deduction in front of the entire Scotland Yard. _Jesus_.

It was almost 9 A.M., and John wasn't yet ready to face Sherlock and his smirking. There was no movement he could hear from Sherlock's bedroom or the living room. _Sherlock must be at the crime scene._ The coast was clear. John needed some time alone. And a steaming cuppa with bread jam sandwich.

He took in a couple of soothing breaths and started down the stairs. He was clad only in his boxers, but he didn't mind because Sherlock wasn't there to ridicule his morning wood. He entered the living room. _No one in sight. Great_, John thought. He was already feeling better.

He made his way to the kitchen and prepared some tea while plastering bread with jam. He ate bite by bite while sipping tea in between. It was a perfect morning. The sun was shining outside, the tea was blended perfectly, and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. Does it get any better?

He felt much better than he did couple of hours before. A certain consulting detective wasn't around and his absence gave John as much time as he needed to evaluate what has happened so far.

John has always considered himself a family man, though he never got along with his family. When he thinks of his family all he can remember is his chaotic mother, exceptionally calm father, childish sister, and himself who was always a mute spectator; all different personalities trying to fit in the same picture. It was like a circus, really. His high school days weren't so exciting. He never had any great set of friends either. He was one of those guys who didn't consider themselves much of geeks to sit with them at lunch hour, nor as a football star, flirting with every girl he lays eyes on. But even in those times he imagined how it would feel being married and having kids. He was fascinated by the idea of being with one person for whole life. He was far away from his dream of having a family; having settled down. Ever since he had moved in with Sherlock he hadn't been in a serious relationship. In fact he hadn't even had a potential date. His not-believed-by-anybody platonic relationship with Sherlock hadn't helped him to get dates, even though he was quite a famous man on the internet. But now considering that he was wrong about his sexuality all along, he had a chance to settle down to something he dreamt about. He, for the first time in life, considered asking a man out. _What would I say? What to say if the man declines?_ John tried not to think something so pessimistic. Instead he focused his thoughts on something he avoided thinking about all along. _Sex with a man_. _Who was supposed to make the first move? Does it... hurt?_ John gulped down the tightness forming in his throat with the last sip of his tea.

He heard his phone ringing from upstairs, but let it rang. He wasn't really in the mood to attend to barely feverish patients today. _Somebody will cover for me_. It was an off day, he decided. The ringing stopped and several beeps followed. _Texts. Must be Sherlock_, John thought. He slowly washed the dishes-his and Sherlock's- while the phone kept ringing and beeping. After putting the dishes in place he ascended the stairs to his bedroom. He fumbled around the room as his phone started ringing somewhere from the closed drawer. That was his usual place to keep it away from Sherlock's reach. He had seriously considered buying a locker with child-lock on it. Not that he thinks it will be of any help.

The screen lit up as he pressed turned it on.

4 missed calls from Lestrade and 23 texts from Sherlock. John didn't bother reading those, and chose instead to dial Lestrade. It barely rang for three seconds before he heard Lestrade's rough voice at the other end.

"John, you have to come down here, _right now_!"

"What's happening, Greg?"

"Sherlock's happening! He says he won't explain his bloody deductions unless you're here. Says we are not intelligent enough."

_That bastard. One day off is all I asked for._

"I can't. It's my day off."

"Day off? Day off of what? John I know you two had a tiff about something but don't let it ruin my job! The Chief personally called me in the morning asking if I have any leads on the case. I had no bloody answer because _Sherlock will not talk unless you are here_!"

_That's your problem_, John wanted to answer but didn't.

"John, please. I'll consider this as a personal favour."

"Alright fine. Where are you?"

"The alley."

"I'll be there in an hour."

"Thanks, John, I owe you one."

John cut the call and started pulling on one of his jumpers.

* * *

As John paid the cabbie, he saw Lestrade hurrying towards him.

"Thank God you're here." He huffed. The poor detective looked exhausted.

"Where is he?" John asked, trying to keep up with the detective's strides.

"Over there." he pointed into a dark corner. John saw him immediately. Sherlock was clad in dirt and saying something nasty-John didn't catch his exact words but he was sure they couldn't be amicable greetings- to Anderson. Anderson was now storming out; tugging on his gloves and throwing them on the damp ground. Sally gave them a deathly glower and followed him.

"_What the hell do you think you are doing?"_ John barked once he was sure Sherlock would hear him.

"Don't you read texts?" He demanded, and started to shove his hands into John's pocket but John pushed him away as if to say 'behave'. "I thought you would want to know who killed Jack Sean!" Sherlock exclaimed rudely.

"You deduced it, already?" For a moment John felt astonished. Sherlock had got the case merely 30 hours ago.

"Yes. I did." The younger man straightened to his full height, his eyes full of pride.

"I do want to know but you didn't have to create a scene. You could have told me in our flat too."

"Boring. Dull."

"I didn't want to get out of the flat today. _And you knew it_." John glared at him. "And for the record, I'm still mad at you for what you did yesterday. Do you have any idea how bloody awkward it is going to be if I run into Michael here?" John whispered fiercely. It wasn't an appropriate place to have conversation like this given that yarders were looking at them, standing so close in a dark corner that his forehead almost touched Sherlock's chin. John took a step back. "Tell Lestrade what you have deduced then we are going to have a talk."

"Fine." Sherlock said, freeing his long, slender fingers from black gloves as Lestrade approached them. John looked around until Michael caught his eye.

"Excuse me." John said, walking away from them. He ignored Sherlock's exclaims, threats, and shouting at his departure.

"Hello, Michael." Michael had seen him coming but now he had his back to John, evidently trying to avoid him.

"Hello, Dr. Watson."

"_I swear to God, John, come back here right now._" Sherlock's voice echoed, filling the awkward silence. Perhaps making it even more awkward.

"Listen, Michael, about yesterday" John scratched his head uncomfortably. "I'm sorry. Sherlock was rude and he shouldn't have said that."

"Why didn't you tell me you were bisexual? I wouldn't have minded if you had told me you weren't interested." Michael said calmly. John admired his deep blue eyes.

"Because I didn't know I was bisexual." John laughed at how ridiculous it sounded even to his own ears.

"What do you mean you didn't know?"

"Sherlock deduced it for me yesterday. I was unaware of my sexuality for 38 bloody years." John laughed.

"You can't be serious." Michael laughed along with him.

"Sadly, I am. And I'm sorry for whatever happened."

"Don't worry about it." Michael smiled and resumed doing whatever he was doing before.

It's now or never. Just do it.

John cleared his throat and continued. It was good Michael had his back to him. At least he wouldn't have to see him making fun of him. "I was wondering if we could meet for a game this Saturday?"

There. It wasn't that hard.

Michael spun around. "You sure he'd be okay with the idea?" He jerked his chin over John's shoulder. John stole glance and saw Sherlock striding away from the crime scene.

"It hardly matters." He shrugged.

"Well then I'd love to catch the game." Michael smiled. John's insides quivered.

_I've got a date!_

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you **Spirit Lily0, WaldfruchtAroma, Anonymously Gorgeous, TheGameIsOnWatson** for favourating and **reflectiveless, AmyK, Samzi, potential-flatmate** and another guest for reviewing! You guys make my day :)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sherlock could hear Lestrade's furious exclaims thrown at him. He saw Anderson and Donovan huddled together, possibly gossiping about Sherlock. Anderson threw him a disgusted look-which he usually did- but even more disgusted one. Not that Sherlock cares. Sherlock cares about John and he probably-no, definitely-has got himself a date.

This wasn't acceptable. John was supposed to be with Sherlock and Sherlock dreaded, hated, despised sharing. When it came to sharing John, Sherlock would just never allow it. It was a wonder how John never acknowledged why his dates always went wrong. The explosions in 221b happen merely because John is out on date and his flatmate doesn't want to share him or his time with anybody else. Sherlock furiously ducked under the cautious tape and walked across the alley, ignoring Lestrade's shouts. He was sure John had his eyes on him. What he couldn't understand was what exactly happens in his head. John wasn't tricky to read most of times but sometimes he can be harder than any ordinary people the detective has ever known. That's what makes John important and when somebody so stupid as Michael Johnson can get John's attention over Sherlock, the only consulting detective feels ignored, left out.

Sherlock kicked at dirt. He didn't mind as stinking mud started clogging his ridiculously expensive shoes. Since John came along, the detective detested being left out. Because John's world -whether he accepts or not- was all about Sherlock. Before him nobody could handle his intellect and they hated him for it. But John never did. Even when John is angry, Sherlock's smallest of smallest deductions can make him forget what he was furious about. Sherlock could manipulate John, even his feelings. But it didn't seem to be working lately. John had been thinking of settling down, having a family and Sherlock knew it. He couldn't understand why John wasn't happy with the way things were. The detective just couldn't let his one and only friend go.

He came to the opening of the alley and instead of turning left to Baker Street he turned right. He needed some work to be done.

* * *

Music was loud. Death metal was never what Bill preferred anyway. Joe, his best buddy, was making out with Millie. She was new in here. Bill remembered how both of them, Joe and him, had been flirting with her. He had showed her around the subway, where he usually spent his daytime along with other homeless. He kept trying even though her preference was Joe from the very start. But Bill was never a quitter.

"See you later, eh?" Joe said with a wink and followed Mille. Bill knew he wouldn't be back until late evening. He had nothing to do. His boss at a Chinese restaurant had kicked him out a week before. He had left his rented place because he could no longer afford it. He moved here, the dark alley behind the subway where Joe lived. Since then he had been trying to fit in this new environment. Fights, drugs, making out etc were quite common; Not a day had passed without these things. His left wrist had almost broken when he had a row with Joe's mates. One of them hit him squarely on head and he passed out. Doc at hospital had said he needed to be under observation for a day. Well, such luxuries aren't meant for homeless, are they?

Bill pulled out a packet of cigar. It now had only one left. He had been saving this since two weeks. He couldn't even afford a bloody carton anymore. And addiction like this hardly goes away.

He lit the only cigar with lighter he had stolen from his father. It looked expensive and now he was thinking to sell it off and get some money. He smoked a long breath in. _Mother of holy God. _Things like these make living on the street easier. He usually spends his time like this, nurturing his addiction, making out with chicks. He should have left house earlier. Living on streets was turning out to be better than living with his beating father and drinking mother.

"Where's Joe?" Bill opened his heavy eyelids to see a dark, tall man. He had his hands buried in a long black coat he wore. The man's voice was threatening. _Drug bust._

Bill struggled standing up and stumbled back against wall. Beer and cigar were having an effect on him. He widened his eyes but dots obscured his vision. He was definitely not putting up a good show for the cop.

"He- Joe went-he is-" A heavy handed slap thudded against his cheek. He stumbled and fell to the floor crying in pain.

"What the fu-"

"Where is Joe?" the man demanded. Bill saw the man clearly in front of him. He was taller than him, well-dressed; certainly didn't look like a cop. Bill touched his fingers where the slap hit him and the touch of his fingers made his skin throb harder and stronger.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Once sure the man wasn't cop Bill barked at him. He gained some control of his body and stood up to his full height, even though the man was fairly taller. He never liked being inferior.

"Just tell me where he is" Man spoke quietly, yet somehow it sounded like a threat.

"What do you want?" The taller man looked at him through his cold grey-blue eyes. He almost looked like a ghost in the darkness of alley. Bill took a step back involuntarily. He reached to his pocket and grasped handle of knife. He still held the cigar tightly in other hand. Just in case.

"Tell Joe Sherlock Holmes was here" The man spun around and started walking away.

Bill exhaled and threw his body against the wall again. He touched his lips on cigar and smelled the divineness of it.

"Actually, you could be just the man I need" The man walked back to Bill and stood towering before leaning down till his eyes leveled with his. "Stubborn, arrogant, just moved in here" the man said studying Bill, his eyes roaming all over him. The man- Holmes, was it? - was dangerously close. Suddenly Bill got aware of his personal space and tried shoving him back. In a swift moment the man got up, held Bill's collar pulled him up and somehow he had Bill's cigar clenched in his mouth.

"Bloody hell-"

"Now listen to me _carefully_. I will not repeat again" He inhaled through cigar. Bill started protesting but the man had his grasp tight enough not to make him move. He then retrieved a pen from his pocket and wrote something on Bill's palm. More intrigued now, he let him.

"If you find this man before Saturday, I will pay you well" Bill opened his mouth but Holmes didn't stop. "Enough to buy you a new carton" He released Bill and puffed out smoke. "Follow him, get his address and give it to me. You can find me in 221b, Baker St" Holmes spun around and strode to the main road. Confused as he was, Bill looked down at his palm and there were two words written in hardly legible handwriting.

_Michael Johnson._

* * *

It was a lazy afternoon. The bright morning was now shadowed and it was rather hot. It looked like it would start raining anytime now. The usually busy Baker St was dull today. But not to Sherlock. The detective had sprawled on the sofa, hands clasped together under his chin. His blue robe was hanging from the edges; he hadn't bothered to wear a T shirt. Only the pajamas. That too because John had lectured him 'how to dress without making onlookers uncomfortable' and he was going to walk in any moment now.

When Sherlock has nothing else to do on a boring afternoon like this, he spends his time deleting useless data. He starts thinking.

_The Jack Sean case. It was an easy one, hardly any deductions. Fingerprints on the insides of his pocket were enough but it was a shame to my intelligence not to be able to find other evidences. Scratches along the walls show his struggle, passport found intact in his house wardrobe was evidence of he had been abducted at least a day before, a word flying around in his office about his fleeting relationship with his boss, his wife knew it and they fought, she flees out of the country-or at least makes look like it- but doesn't and hence the murder. Not well planned but planned difficult enough for yarders. Even John was unable to detect these things, seeing them but not observing. _

_Anything worth deleting? John asking a man out, maybe? No. That can't be deleted. Jack Sean case is over; Michael Johnson's is just started. _

_John. He was there on crime scene admiring Jack's body, Michael's bum and nothing of me. _

_Does that upset me? _

_Yes. Why? Why, indeed. _

_But he does imagine me shagging him. So he fantasises about me but is embarrassed to admit. Interesting. _

_But why does that concern me?_

Sherlock let out a forced exhale, emptying his mind, relaxing his body. He tried deleting John's clear signs of attraction for him. Thinking of anything but John, his praises, his blond hair, that ridiculous jumper of kittens... At least he was trying.

The detective heard thumped footsteps on the wooden staircase bellow. A minute later door swung open. Sherlock saw John standing there, deciding his next move. He looked… awkward. He had flung his right leg on back rest of the sofa and other lying on the ground. John looked down the taller man's leg and rested his gaze there, only momentarily before drawing up to his face again with an effort. Sherlock missed nothing.

"I'll be upstairs"

And John was gone.

Sherlock looked down at his pajamas.

_Am I... hard?!_

Well, deleting John's memories was getting harder. _Literally._

* * *

**A/N:**Apologies for not updating in a while. I had been buy with assignments. I rarely get to sleep these days. Anyway, that was another chapter. I really hope you liked it. Please do review. I read each and everything you have got to say and it definitely helps me write better.

Also, I received a PM saying the chapters were too short. I can write longer chapters but it will take more time to update. A week maybe. So what do you guys think? Longer or shorter chapter?

And my sincere thanks to **Midknight's Sword, xAlennahx, darkwhizper, The Eleven Daughter, DoctorSherlockLove, HrtlssRmntc, Silver-uni, Midnightlily15** for favourating and **HrtlessRmntic, reflectiveless **(Wow! You've been reviewing since chapter 1!)**, Mayle** for reviewing! Thank you so much guys. If it wasn't for you guys, I would have stopped writing long ago. :3


	5. Chapter 5

****Chapter 5

John ascended the stairs rather slowly, not so sure if his sudden exit was a clever idea. But what could he even do?! He had decided he would have 'the talk' with Sherlock once he gets home. Yes, he was very much determined and had been repeating his opening statement in his mind over and over, until he saw Sherlock like that; sprawled on the sofa with an obvious erection. John was bothered and he didn't understand why. _Did I presume that Sherlock would never show physical significance of being a man?_ Yes, he definitely did. But he couldn't be at fault considering how sentimentless and un-humanly the detective has been most of his life. _Asexual_. Yes, that's what John thought he is. But what he just saw couldn't be his eyes deceiving him, could it? Given that he hadn't considered the other side of his sexuality until now, the possibility couldn't be ruled out completely. But if it was Sherlock's sexuality that bothered John, it shouldn't bother _this much._ He was getting aroused himself.

_Am I attracted to Sherlock?_

No.

_A bit, maybe._ But who isn't? He had everything that John admired. Be it his massive and not-so-human intellect or his toned, slender body. Or those _cheekbones_. Or his dark hair and pale skin; perfectly contrast to each other but the whole picture considered, he looks heartbreakingly beautiful.

John pulled his mind out of reverie. Whatever he had on his mind was not what Sherlock wanted obviously with him being married to his _bloody work._

John realised he had reached his bedroom somehow. He didn't want to enter. He wanted to go to Sherlock and ask him why he was so bothered by Michael. _Jealousy?_ A voice inside John suggested. _No. It couldn't be_. Sherlock has never liked anyone but himself all his life and _jealousy_ because John's got a date sounds utterly ridiculous even in his mind.

John was about to turn doorknob to his bedroom when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it" John called out, hoping a little Sherlock would care about bell ringing.

"No! Go to your room" Sherlock bellowed. John was halfway down the stairs and though Sherlock's shout startled him, it didn't stop him.

"Go to your room. I'll get this" Sherlock was standing outside the living room, blocking John's further way down.

"Since when-" John started to get through Sherlock's stretched hands, ducking under, pushing them away but the taller man's octopus like hands made it impossible. "-did you start taking interest in tedious works?!"

"I'm not taking any interest. He's here for me"

"_He? _Who are you talking about?" John tried to continue the conversation but he was getting distracted by Sherlock's presence. So close. _If I look up right now, my lips would most definitely reach that extraordinary neck of his._ For a moment John forgot why he was wrestling with this beautiful, _beautiful_ man. Sherlock too just for a portion of a second – which seemed like eternity to John - dropped his defenses and looked at him.

John knew if he doesn't break the eye contact now he would end up committing the worst- or best- mistake of his life. But he just couldn't. The man before him- the one who spotlighted John's sexuality- was suddenly a thousand times attractive, _sexier_. He wondered if the attraction had always been there or it's just his mind playing tricks.

Sherlock looked away from John, something dangerously close to desire crossing his eyes before the usual neutral facade took its place. John too resumed his efforts.

"The man" detective said desperately trying to stop John's efforts "at the d-" But he couldn't. John freed from Sherlock's tug on his jumper and ran downstairs taking two steps at a time. He stopped only after turning the doorknob.

"It's personal!" Sherlock's fist pressed against the wall made it impossible to open the door.

That evaporated John's all efforts in thin air.

"_Personal?_ What is so personal that you can't tell me?" A hurtful tone leaked in his voice. He cleared throat.

Sherlock didn't say anything.

"Alright. Don't tell. Who am _I_ anyway?" John turned and bolted up to his room. Out of corner he saw Sherlock rooted to his position.

He locked his door with a bang, his breathing was heavy. He felt insulted. _Sherlock has started keeping secrets from me now_. Not that he ever tells John what goes in his big head but it seemed like he didn't want John to know what was going on. _And that cannot be a good sign. _

The door below closed with a thud. John hurried to window and peeked down. He saw Sherlock with a young man, walking to the main road. The boy looked familiar. Too familiar. And something in John's brain clicked.

_The boy- Bill, his name was- was in the hospital and I had fixed his almost-broken hand just couple of weeks ago. What was Sherlock doing with him? One of his Homeless Network? But they never came to the flat. Not until today._

_There is something wrong._

* * *

John spent complete evening waiting for Sherlock. He was now prepared with _'the talk'_ and this time he will make sure nothing comes between it. _Not even erections_. He had eaten and left some of the takeaway for Sherlock though he knew he wouldn't even bother to touch it. He watched telly for some time while waiting for him. After a while, having nothing to do, he went downstairs to see Mrs. Hudson. He gave her some medications for her hip before she leaves a day after to pay visit to her sister. She was quite worried how John alone was going to handle Sherlock and his tantrums for a week. But John assured her 221b will still be standing when she returns. By the time he returned it was 10 pm and he was started to worry where Sherlock had been. He considered texting him but then suddenly he remembered he was supposed to be mad at him and dropped it. He texted Lestrade instead.

Is Sherlock with you? -JW

Nope, haven't seen him since afternoon. Isn't even replying to my texts. -GL

Did you two fight again? - GL

John sighed. _Are we this obvious?_

Sort of. Text me if you hear anything from him, yeah? -JW

It was only 10.30 and John had already feeling sleepy. He rubbed both of his hands on his face, yawning widely. He turned on the telly again, just to have something to keep his eyes occupied at least. He had forgotten how to live without Sherlock around. He had no idea when he dozed off.

It was close to midnight when door creaked open lightly. John stirred but didn't wake up fully- arranging his slumped body on the armchair. It wasn't comfortable at all but John was too tired and sleep deprived to get up. He heard light footsteps on the wooden flooring. They halted in front of him. John daren't show any movement. His encounter with Sherlock sprawled on sofa that afternoon flashed across his mind and his pants all of a sudden felt uncomfortable. Panicked, John shut his eyes tighter, hoping Sherlock wouldn't notice any of this. _If that's possible at all._

There was rustling of clothes and John realised Sherlock was on his knees before him. His knees were brushing John's feet. Sherlock's fingers' presence ghosted on skin of his arms. _How close is he? _John's breath caught in his throat when a finger ever so lightly touched base of his neck. It felt cold against his warm skin _and incredibly desirable_. Pressure of the finger increased lightly and John's pulse quickened, heart hammered in rib cage. He tried to keep his face neutral and eyes shut with an enormous effort.

Now four of Sherlock's slender digits were pressed on John's neck and thumb made random circular patterns in the hollow of it so lightly that it felt like it's not even there but also left John wanting more. He sensed Sherlock was moving and then unexpectedly he was breathing in John's ear, his other hand was on John's shoulder. Their chests almost brushed. The taller man threw his one leg on the armrest. Now, their thighs were just brushing. John kept his eyes shut because if he sees Sherlock right now - _so fucking close, breathing in my ear_ - he would not be able to stop his instincts.

And then his hands were withdrawn, thigh was gone and breathing disappeared. John held back a protesting moan that threatened to escape on abrupt absence of his flatmate. A moment later door to Sherlock's bedroom shut with a thud. John's heart was beating faster and harder like it was about to explode. He was trying to comprehend what just had happened. Whatever it was, John had liked it _so much, _much more than necessary to maintain platonic relationship with his flatmate.

_I am in deep trouble, aren't I?_

* * *

**A/N:** I'm so sorry for not updating in a while. I turned 18 *drum roll* FINALLY and I started uni just a week ago. Things have been so freaking crazed I barely have time. I will try as much as I can to update next week!

Again thank you so much for sticking with me, the story all along! Special thanks to **MoriartyParty, EJ 12212012, Mayle and reflectiveless** (you are my star :3) for reviewing and finding typos. Also, thank you **Vilonic, MoriartyParty** for favourating and every single soul who is following the story. So many favourites, reviews and followers! *cries happy tears*

PS: I am looking for a beta. This story desperately needs betaing. It has too many typos because I type on my phone. ._. So if anybody of you is interested please PM me.

Thank you so much! : 3


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**** This chapter is betaed by reflectiveless! I owe her so much :3**

* * *

Chapter 6

It was a fine morning indeed. Usually clouded weather of London was bright today. Warm sunrays swept across John's room while he lay on his bed admiring the beauty of the day and thinking how drastically his life had changed in last 48 hours.

What happened last night- when Sherlock walked in and _did things to him_- had left John unsure of what was on the detectives mind. There was brushing of chests - _and thighs, for the love of God_- and John had not even slightest what to make out of it. _What was Sherlock even doing, breathing in my bloody ear?_ Had he noticed John was aroused? He hoped not. But he knew he would have. John shook his head. He could not deal with his confused feelings for his flatmate knowing there would never be a solution. What worried him was what the other man had on his mind. Sherlock never did anything irrelevant, even if it's something that makes others uncomfortable. Or in John's case, _aroused._ Ever since he realized he is bisexual, he was highly aware of Sherlock's presence. Or maybe he always was and is just noticing now. Even the way the taller man smirked was making John's insides flutter like a teenaged girl. He knew his so-called platonic relationship with Sherlock was no longer so platonic as it had been.

It was clear John was attracted to Sherlock and what was even more clear was Sherlock's disinterest in relationships and dating. John wondered what Sherlock's reaction would be when he tells him he has been crushing on him. _Would he stop talking to me?_ No, before that I will move out._ I cannot risk friendship with a brilliantly annoying man that Sherlock is. _But before that he has to know what Sherlock has on his mind.

John let out a shaky breath. Clock on the bedside table read 8:45a.m. John knew he would have to go to hospital today. Somebody had to bring in resources to look after Sherlock. Mycroft had been too generous in his monthly allowance transferred to Sherlock's and his accounts but due to some epic rivalry the two brothers shared, Sherlock hasn't yet used a single penny out of it. Neither has John.

John took time to get ready glancing at Sherlock's closed door over and over again expecting it to open. But it never did even when he was ready to go to hospital. John wasn't sure if he should check on him, flashbacks of the night before flashing in his mind. But when it hit 9:45 and John couldn't wait anymore, he hesitantly stood before Sherlock's room. Finally he rapped on it with his knuckles lightly, not sure if Sherlock was in there. Nothing happened. John knocked a bit sharper and called out "Sherlock?" He could hear papers rustling and glass flasks clinking together lightly._ So he is in there and is avoiding me. Fucking great._

"I'm going to the hospital, Sherlock, call me if you need me," John said and waited a minute but there wasn't any response.

"Alright, just take care, will you? Don't blow up the flat," He tried to attempt with a light humor, which failed horribly as John's voice broke midway through the sentence. He touched fingers to the door lightly, wishing he could see Sherlock's face. Probably this is how it was going to be from now on. Sherlock will ignore him as he obviously knows what John has on his mind. John buried his face in his palms. It was not supposed to happen! Sherlock could not expect him to not see him as just a friend after he does those things! He hated to admit but he knew their friendship was in danger and was going to be neither easy nor painless.

John dragged his heavy feet down the stairs when he thought he heard the doorknob clicking from upstairs. He considered going up again but least he could do was to give his flatmate a little space.

* * *

Sherlock entered the living with surety of being alone. He thumped his body on sofa. Oh, how much he loved this furniture! He thought of moving it to his room but dismissed the thought immediately thinking of times when John sat there with him watching crap telly. He hated it as much as he loved it. He hated listening to the garbage they talked and loved it as much because John laughs hysterically when one of crappiest jokes are cracked. The taller man doesn't understand what John finds so funny but as long as he is in the same room as him, he doesn't have to complain.

Sherlock opened his eyes and stared blankly in space. He was thinking about John and _his laughter_ and not for a second his self-diagnosed sociopathic mind objected it. Something was terribly different lately and what more depressing was he couldn't point out what. _John finally coming to realisation of his sexual orientation?_ Well, it did make Sherlock oddly happy about something he can't put a finger on when the realisation hit John, but it wasn't what bothered him. _His new date?_ Maybe. John was supposed to be with Sherlock and only Sherlock because he would be needed anytime, anywhere and the detective just hated sharing.

Sherlock started thinking more thoroughly, categorizing as he processed his thoughts to know what exactly bothered him in recent days and soon he settled down to a guideline that it had to do something with his flatmate. Sherlock remembered the night before how John poorly-_oh so poorly_ -had tried pretending to sleep while Sherlock stood in front of him. His eyes had fluttered and fingers clenched tighter together in - Sherlock fumbled in his mind palace's version of dictionary for an appropriate word - _anticipation_. The younger man couldn't resist his instincts and pressed his finger against John's pulse point. Warm skin of his made tinkling sensation on Sherlock's fingers as he applied more pressure. For a moment he didn't care about his pulse and just pleasured in the warm sensation John provided. But soon enough John's pulse throbbed for attention under rough fingers of Sherlock. As much as he hates to admit it, and will never out loud, he gave in to what his sentiment craves.

But that lasted not long enough - 48 seconds- and Sherlock realised what he was doing and how dangerously close he was to make the biggest mistake and retrieved to his room. Sure enough John's pulse will be hopping too dangerously fast- to match Sherlock's.

Yes, that bothered Sherlock.

His sociopathic mind had marvelously deleted these sentiments. Then John came and he was the one and only person who occupied his mind like this with pulse elevated, pupils dilated. The last thing Sherlock wanted was to feel sentiments and be driven by them but John had so far been successful in doing so. A part of his mind felt quite happy with current confusion of his thoughts. But his sociopathic mind of so many years detested the new arrangement to put him in this dilemma. He had to put it all together now. He cannot avoid John everyday. The man's clever enough to realise when he's being ignored.

Sherlock exhaled forcefully and closed his eyes; _maybe deleting some of the memories would help. _And that's when his phone beeped from bedroom.

"John, get the phone for me" Sherlock murmured not bothering to open eyes.

Another beep.

"John!" Sherlock almost yelled.

"He is not here, dear!" Mrs. Hudson called back from downstairs. "Do you want anything?" Sherlock didn't bother to answer. He simply ignored his phone and went back to deleting process. That's then his it started ringing.

"SHUT UP!" Sherlock screamed but it didn't stop ringing.

Irritated, he got up and went to his bedroom. It was John calling and for a fraction of second he wanted to answer the call and hear his flatmate's voice again. But that wasn't working for his sociopathic mind and he ignored the call. When the phone finally stopped ringing he went to inbox. As predicted it was John.

Have you eaten? –JW

Sherlock, don't ignore me. –JW

Just answer the call for fuck's sake. – JW

Is this how it's going to be then? – JW

"Is this what going to be?" Sherlock questioned softly.

And then his phone never rang again.

* * *

A/N: This story will probably take an angsty mode from here. I hope you liked the chapter!

Again I thank **Bella Watson-Holmes, aku02, Plastical, wickedmunsterkitty, umilikethebeatalot, ApocalypticalKitten4, Tehz **and** yurixwolfram** for favourating and **Mayle, reflectiveless, EJ, wickedmunsterkitty** and **umilikethebeatalot** for reviewing! I also thank everybody who PMed offering to beta the story. *Offers virtual cookies*

PS: I really love it when you guys guess what would happen next. It helps me understand what you all would want to happen next. :)

Thank you! :3


	7. Chapter 7

**This chapter is betaed by reflectiveless! Thank you so much :3**

**Any mistakes you find are of my own.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 7

Next two days passed in quite a blur and before John knew it was Friday. The next day was his first date as a bisexual man and he wasn't thrilled a slightest with the idea. He still hasn't resolved his issues with Sherlock because the man keeps avoiding him. A day after their awkward meeting in the living room, John had tried to break the ice but failed completely. The detective behaves as if he sees right through him. He didn't bother to look up from his microscope when the other man tried to have a small chat. And as he realized John wasn't going to give up so easily on him until he makes Sherlock talk, Sherlock gathered his belongings from the kitchen counter and moved them all to his bedroom. John would have been grateful to have Sherlock's experiments removed from the kitchen but this wasn't how it was supposed to be. He felt guilty. Guilty of ruining their friendship.

But the older man never stopped worrying about Sherlock. Being a doctor himself, he prepared breakfasts, lunches, dinners, midday snacks in ample quantity, just in case the world's only consulting detective takes interest in tedious activity that eating is. But the food remained frozen and untouched in fridge. Sherlock never got out of his bedroom, not at least when John was around. John considered calling Mycroft, but dismissed the thought immediately realizing Sherlock wouldn't be any happier with him talking to his brother. Instead he decided talking to Lestrade about the current tension in221b. They decided to meet for a pint Saturday evening, after John's date.

John took cab ride to 221b from hospital after his shift on Friday. As he reached 221b, his phone started ringing. John paid the cabbie and pulled out his mobile from his pocket. It was Michael Johnson. John stared a little longer at the screen, deciding whether to answer. Eventually he accepted the call.

"Hello, Michael," He tried to sound cheerful.

"Hi, John. I hope I'm not interrupting?"

"No, of course not. I just reached home. What's the matter?" John said, fumbling through the keys and opening the door.

"Nothing important really. I was making sure if you are still up for tomorrow's date."

John wished he could cancel it. Michael wasn't bad but the timing was. He had these confusing feelings for Sherlock and going out on a date with Michael wasn't really an exciting prospect. He knew how less Sherlock was excited too.

"Er, John, are you there?"

"Yes I am. Tomorrow's fine. Your place?" John started up the stairs.

"Brilliant. I will pick you up if you don't mind. Baker St, isn't it?"

"Yes, 221b. Do you want me to bring anything? For dinner?" John pushed open the door to the living room and almost didn't see Sherlock sitting on the sofa. Michael was talking something but John distanced the phone from his ears, looking at where Sherlock sat. He hadn't seen him in _two bloody days_. A tiniest possible smile pulled on Sherlock's face only momentarily before disappearing. John didn't return it. He was too dazed to act coherently.

"Hello?" Michael called out from the phone louder.

"Hello, I'm sorry, I'm in the middle of something right now.I'll call you later, alright?"

"Oh sure, no problem."

"See you, Michael" John ended the call hurriedly and looked back at Sherlock whose eyebrows were arched up.

"Michael?" The detective's voice sounded like a tiny growl.

_Oh-uh._

"Yeah, Michael-" John scratched his head awkwardly.

"The date?" Sherlock said not bothering to what John was saying.

"-from forensic," They spoke at the same time. John took a moment to digest what Sherlock had said.

"Yeah," John replied in a small voice. Sherlock got up from the sofa and started turning to his bedroom. Anger boiled in John's veins. He was not going to let Sherlock get pass through this time without a conversation to solve the pressing issues.

"Don't walk away, Sherlock," Words came out a little more fierce than expected. But it had an effect and Sherlock stopped and turned about.

"What _the bloody hell_ is wrong with you lately? If you have a problem with me then for _the fuck's sake talk to me_! Don't just block me out of your bloody door!" John bellowed.

"Or what?" Sherlock's icy cold voice sounded indifferent.

"_Or what?_ What- why are you-" John apparently was too angered to find right words. He pinched his nose bridge between his fingers. When he leveled his agitating breath he spoke calmly as much as he could."How long are you going to avoid me like this?"

No response.

"Sherlock, I'm moving out." John said looking in his flatmate's eyes. The younger man looked confused. "We can't have this going on forever," he motioned his hand between two of them "I value our friendship and if something is bothering you and our friendship, I better move out, give you some space. I have talked to Harry and she has found a place for me to stay."

"I don't want you to move out," Sherlock whispered barely audible.

"You don't want me here, either" John said calmly.

"That's not what-"

"You need some space, Sherlock. I completely understand , I cannot risk our friendship on any grounds," John smiled lightly.

"You don't have to move out, John," There was a hint of finality in Sherlock's voice. John shook his head and crossed the room to be near Sherlock but not too close.

"This doesn't have to be permanent," he smiled and put a hand on the taller man's shoulder lightly. When he didn't cringe away, he patted a little. "Take your time," John let his hand fall down, not meaning to push too much.

"Fancy a cuppa?" He said turning to the kitchen.

"Yes," John felt Sherlock's eyes on his back but tried with all his might to not look into the detective's eyes. He shook his head mentally, thinking how he had ended up in this mess.

* * *

John was up in his bedroom and Sherlock had settled in his usual praying position on the sofa. He heard soft laughs from upstairs and that was enough to confirm John was talking to Michael. Sherlock had a sudden urge to go upstairs and snatch that phone right away and throw it out of the window. But that wasn't going to help him. He had to think rationally. He needed to ruin John's date for his own sanity. In the past days while trying to avoid John he had lost his mind. Completely. He craved to go out and just feel warm touch of John's neck. _That neck_. It wasn't significant to ordinary people, but to Sherlock it was. Ever since his digits came across that soft skin on his neck, he had wanted nothing but to feel it again and again.

Sherlock sighed and forced to think of a solution before his thoughts get carried away. He analyzed the options.

_I know Michael. Possesses kind of humour John likes. John has already confirmed Michael has a sexually admirable bum. Probably would like lips as a result of different angle it makes when he smiles._

Sherlock cringed.

_On positive note, I know where he lives and they will be there whole time of their date. Makes things easier. I just need to work out a proper plan._

* * *

John woke with a start next morning.

"Good morning, John," Sherlock held out a tray with a fuming kettle on it.

"What the-" John's voice croaked and he realized he was wearing minimal clothing. Only a T shirt. He pulled quilt from somewhere around his waist up until it covered his chest. Sherlock smiled a brilliant smile. "Give me a minute."

"No, I can't. We've got a case!" Again he flashed his remarkably white teeth. John for a moment wondered if Sherlock had forgotten the awkward days they just had spent.

"Now?" John looked at the bedside clock which read 7:54 A.M.

"Yes, client's waiting downstairs."

"Fine, I'll be there in a minute," John waited for Sherlock to exit the room. Well, he didn't. When he looked at him questioningly, he just grinned again. This wasn't giving John a good feeling.

"I need to freshen up," John looked at him, waiting for Sherlock to take the hint.

"Oh, I'll wait here," _The bloody grin again._

"Leave me alone for a moment," John tried avoiding the other man's intense gaze. "I need to get dressed up."

"_Oh-oh,_" Sherlock looked down at his legs _and winked_. John stopped breathing. The detective bent down to place the tray on the edge of John's bed and dropped his voice to what John would have considered a seduction level. _"I'll be waiting."_

* * *

Sherlock grinned wickedly on his way out. His plan was definitely working. He marveled in the brilliance of the idea. Level One was a success so far and he was sure next level will be too.

He entered the living room where Bill- dressed in an expensive suit that Sherlock had provided him with- sat tapping on the armrest of John's chair. Sherlock frowned.

"Don't sit _there_," he tugged at Bill's sleeve until he got up "That's where John sits." This had to work out exactly how he had planned. Bill didn't look surprised as he was used to strange behaviour of the detective over the past meetings.

"So what do we have today?" John entered rubbing hands together, mouth pulled in an exaggerated smile. Sherlock instantly understood he was trying to pretend that their encounter before wasn't awkward at all.

And then he halted for a second looking at Bill.

"Bill?" John said with disbelief. Sherlock froze. _John knows Bill?_

"Dr. Watson?" Bill looked confused. He looked at Sherlock and then again at John, clearly undecided if he should act according to the plan anymore.

Sherlock instantly knew what was happening. John knew Bill and that changed everything and if Bill utters a single word now then Sherlock would get caught.

"Thank you so much, Bill for coming. I'll show you out," Sherlock grabbed Bill's sleeve and manhandled him to the door.

"Wait, Sherlock, what's happening?" John trailed behind them as Sherlock continued to pull Bill out of the door.

"The plan you-" Bill tried to speak but Sherlock threw him a threatening look and the boy fell silent at once.

"What plan?" John continued down the stairs behind them. "Sherlock, you'll hurt him!" John raised his voice a bit as he saw Sherlock's fingers digging deeper in bill's arm. Sherlock reached the door and held it open. He pushed Bill out little and he too followed him out of the door.

"John, go upstairs. I'll explain everything to you," And then he banged the door on John's face.

Once out of 221b, he held Bill by his collar and pushed him against the wall. "How do you know, John?" He said through his teeth.

"Dr. Watson?" Sherlock clasped his grip tighter as the boy's stupid question was testing his patience. "He fixed my wrist some days ago" He said. Sherlock felt people passing by were eyeing them suspiciously. He let go of his collar.

"Tell everybody to cancel everything we planned. John should _never_ come across it. Understand?" Sherlock gave him another threatening look.

"The crime scene-"

"Destroy everything. _Everything._" The boy nodded. "Go," Bill ran away.

Sherlock kicked at dirt. _Fuck_. He had planned it so well along with his homeless network. _A fake crime scene, interesting enough to take John's mind off his bloody date. But since John knew Bill, it wouldn't take him much time to realize it's all planned. _

Sherlock frowned. Now he had only one solution remaining to mess up John's date. He had tried to avoid going that way but it seemed he had no option left anymore.

* * *

**A/N:** This was fun xD I love to write seductive Sherlock. Oh well xD

I sincerely thank **azara3, jenpix, YognaughtCoco, TakutNicodemus, laurateslauth, sKyLar KnIgHt, The madness speaks** for favourating and **BackPanther1987, asStClairewashere, laurathesloth, EJ** for commenting on the previous chapter! **sKyLaR KnIgHt** thanks to you too for reviewing every chapter so far. And **Mayle**, I love reading your reviews! I also thank everybody following the story. You all help me write better. *Hugs you and provides you with a lifetime supply of cookies*


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

John clenched his teeth as the door smashed on his face. The first time he had seen Bill coming to 221b he knew something was definitely up. Just a minute ago, he had seen Bill trying to open his mouth to say something but shutting it with an audible click because Sherlock had thrown him an Open-Your-Mouth-Now-And-Lose-All-Your-Incisors look. John turned around, anger filling his head, and went straight to his bedroom, locking it behind him. _Sherlock was hiding something_, that he was sure of. He didn't want John to know what Bill was going to say. _And why was Bill so dressed up anyway?_ He barely had money for treatment and now he wore a fine suit which would have cost him a fortune. Door to 221b opened and closed below.

"John?" John flared his nostrils but didn't reply. He stood just behind the locked door to his room as he heard footsteps approaching. And a brief struggle to open the door.

"John, open the door," Sherlock said "I know you are in there."

"Bloody marvelous deduction," John yelled back but didn't move from where he stood. There was a thumping sound on the ground as if Sherlock had dropped something on the wooden flooring.

"I can see you, John."

"No, you can't," John said exasperatedly and turned away to his bed before checking if he had locked the door properly.

"No, don't turn away! Open the door!" _How the bloody hell he does that?_ Exhaling forcefully John turned around and opened the door making sure his face looked angry enough. Instead of finding the detective standing in front of the door, John found Sherlock on his knees, palms flat on the floor, shoulders almost touching the ground, head turned sideways as if looking through slit of the door and his arse stuck out as if trying to reach the ceiling. John gulped at the sight.

"Oh, hello," Sherlock said not budging an inch from his incredibly stupid yet arousing position.

John fumbled through vocabulary to find a coherent response but all he could think was _Sherlock's arse right there! Sherlock fucking Holmes's bloody round and curvy arse!_

"Enjoying the view?" Sherlock said and smirked.

"Oh shut up," with what seemed like a herculean task John turned around and walked straight to his bedside table where he had kept his phone. All of a sudden he had a very bad feeling about this and wanted to get out as soon as possible. He heard rustling and dusting of clothes and footsteps following him in.

"John, I-ah-" Sherlock said to John's back. John decidedly ignored the taller man and proceeded with going through unread messages. "The case wasn't interesting."

John laughed a humourless laugh.

"So, that's why you threw him out?" John turned around and suddenly realised Sherlock was closer than he had expected. A step forward and their noses would be brushing. John realised this was happening too many times lately. More than what is considered normal, even to Sherlock's privacy-invading standards. John put a hand on the detective's arm and pushed him away.

"I'm not stupid, you know," John said, "I knew something was wrong the first time Bill came here in 221b. Why was he dressed up anyway?" Sherlock opened his mouth but John didn't stop. "Tell me the truth or tell nothing."

John waited for a response when there wasn't one he pushed Sherlock farther away and went straight to his wardrobe on the other side of the room. He pulled out a warm jumper and trousers.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock said sounding generously interested.

"I've got a date today."

"Don't go," Sherlock said in minimum yet firm voice possible.

"What did you say?" John again laughed with no trace of humour in his voice.

"I said, _don't. Go_."

"I don't have to ask for your permission," John said calmly. Sherlock crossed the room and then he was right in front of John. _So close._

"You are not going," Sherlock's gaze held John's.

"I am going," This time John's temper leaked in his voice "It has nothing to do with you."

"It has _everything_ to do with me!" Sherlock bellowed and John took a step back at the unexpected outburst. "I don't like sharing, John. I DON'T"

"I. Am not. Your. Bloody property," John pronounced each word through his teeth making it more threatening. He took Sherlock's silence's advantage and continued. "I have needs, Sherlock. Needs you don't understand. Or you don't want to understand. Whatever you have been trying to do since I asked Michael out-" he vaguely indicated a hand between them as if to explain what exactly he had been doing "-well guess what! It's working. Trying to seduce me, aren't you?" John ran fingers through his short hair. "Winking, sticking your arse out, brushing your thigh against mine, _for Fuck's sake!_ What are you even trying to do, Sherlock?" he looked at the taller man who was calm as ocean. _Well, fuck. If I'm making a fool of myself then let's not stop midway. Better put all cards on the table_, John thought. But Sherlock being a prick as always didn't say a word.

"I know you are married to work and all that bullshit," words sounded harsh even to his ears but he was too angry to even care. "But I'm not! I can't be with you 24/7 and forget what I want!" He looked at Sherlock who had not spoken a word in last couple of minutes but had backed away from him. John took a minute to calm his breath and then spoke as steadily as possible. "I respect what you do, Sherlock. But I can't be on your call all the time. I have needs- physical needs. I have no bloody idea why you were trying to seduce me but it worked. _It very bloody well worked_," He took a deep breath in and continued, "But we don't want same things, Sherlock, we don't," looking up in the detective's eyes he said, "In a perfect world this would have been easier, but it's sure as hell not."

"I don't want you to leave," Sherlock spoke in a soft voice and for a moment he thought the detective is actually hurt.

"I don't want to, either. But things aren't the same now. You know what I feel for you and I know how you for me," John shook his head trying to clear his thoughts. "It's the only way to save our friendship."

"John, I-"

"No, don't say anything. This is best for us both," John smiled helplessly wanting nothing but to close the distance between them and hold the man close and never let go.

"John?" Sherlock said after a moment's silence. John looked up. "You don't know what I want," And then Sherlock was gone.

John stood rooted to his position as the words sank in.

_Does that mean Sherlock has feelings for me?_

_No, that's ridiculous_. _Sherlock has clearly stated from time to time all that mattered to him is The Work and nothing else._

_Maybe he changed his mind?_, a voice inside John said.

John shook his head. He wasn't going to let any hope spark anew because deep down he knew Sherlock would never want such a tedious thing that a relationship is, unless it's for an experiment. _Is it an experiment too?_ He hoped not.

John pulled out his phone.

Could we meet a bit early today? -JW

John wished he hadn't sound too desperate as he waited for Michael's reply. But that was the only way he could get out of flat.

Of course. Meet you in half hour? -MJ

Ta. Sure you don't want me to get anything for lunch? -JW

Don't worry about that. We'll go to the pub. -MJ

John pocketed the phone and took minute and deep breaths before going downstairs.

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair fingers glued to his lips looking vaguely in space. Anyone would have thought he's sulking but John knew better.

"I'm sorry for what I said," John said, "It wasn't what I meant and I'm sorry. Really."

Sherlock refused to acknowledge John's words and continued staring at nothing.

"Sherlock, please, you know I didn't mean those things. I love what you do. I respect it as much. It was just the anger talking."

Nothing in response.

"Are you never going to talk to me again?" John couldn't keep hurt away from his voice. Yes, he wanted Sherlock but not by compromising what they have now. John took a deep breath and started to cross the room. At the same time, realising John was coming closer, Sherlock got up in an instant and went to stand beside the window with his back to John. That hurt John almost physically. He dropped his shoulders, eyes downcast. He saw last night's takeaway sitting on the coffee table as he had left it out for Sherlock. John took the plate and went to kitchen to heat it up. When he came back Sherlock still hadn't moved from the window.

"Eat something," John's voice croaked. "Don't take it out on food," Sherlock in response pulled his violin out from its case that lay near the mantelpiece. John sighed and put the dish down on the table and turned to leave.

"Why is it that everyone avoids me, John?" Sherlock spoke out of the blue when John had reached the threshold. "Is it my intellect they can't handle or they just hate me for no specific reason at all?" John stared at his flatmate with a dumbfounded expression.

"I didn't choose to be a sociopath. People kept shutting me out. Bullied me when I was in Sussex. University wasn't any different, either," He turned to face John who had now acquired a sympathetic face. "Tell me, John, what did I do wrong?"

"Sherlock-"

"No, don't give me that face. I don't care what others think, not anymore. It wasn't my choice that I no longer care for sentiment. And your sympathy is not going to answer my question."

John stared at him wondering how deep this man was wounded beneath that cold, rigid facade.

"Then you came along and _you stayed_," Sherlock continued "You didn't run away. I don't understand why. I still don't. But I knew you will leave me eventually. Like everyone else does. I'm not asking you to stay for my sake, John, I'm asking what is it that I do which drives _everyone_ away?"

"You aren't driving me away, Sherlock," _It's exactly the opposite of it,_ John wanted to add but didn't.

"You are leaving, aren't you? I didn't want anybody else to stay but you, John."

"I don't want to leave you, Sherlock, I don't. Believe me, please," John's eyes started to sting and he fought an impulse to quit distance between them and tell this incredibly stupid man he was loved.

"Why are you leaving me then?"

"Because I-" He suddenly had no idea what he wanted to say.

Sherlock crossed the distance between them and stood just inches away from John.

"I've never wanted anybody as much as you until now. You are the only person who has come this close to me." John didn't dare to look in those grey-blue eyes because if he did then he will kiss him and it will do nothing but push Sherlock farther away from him.

"John, last few days- I don't know what's happening to me," Sherlock's voice was uncertain reminding John of shaking, uncertain voice of frightened Sherlock from the pub of Baskerville. "I have never shown a sentiment before. I was immune to it. Until now."

John couldn't help but look up in the detective's eyes to check if this was some kind of experiment and instantly regretted thinking such an evil thought after looking at those intent pair of eyes before him.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" John whispered.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, wandered his gaze around John's face and then whispered back, "You."

John barely heard the words and then his mouth was crushing on Sherlock's. He could only think of those cupid shaped lips which he was now caressing. He dug his fingers in curly mop of Sherlock's hair pulling him closer. John was living his fantasy. His another hand settled on Sherlock's neck holding him there. Their breaths mingled. Sherlock smelled of peroxides, acids and mostly of the ruins from the fridge but beneath it all his distinct smell was filling John's every sense. He inhaled it, he melted in it. It took him some more time to realise Sherlock wasn't participating with enthusiasm. His hands lolled by his sides, his eyes were wide open even when they were lips to lips and they we squinted. John broke apart and laughed a little his flatmate.

"Relax, love," John said retrieving his hand to Sherlock's face to feel his sharp angles. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Of course not. Where did you get that stupid idea?" Sherlock said trying to sound rude but his laboured breath from the kiss hardly helped.

"You sodding git," John smiled before meeting his friends mouth again. He traced his fingers along Sherlock's arm and then entwined with long digits of his at the end. Sherlock, reluctant at first, let John led him for the first time. John held his hand before guiding it to his waist. He put a bit more pressure on the back side of Sherlock's palm to make sure it stays there. Sherlock whimpered as John's tongue scraped his lower lip. Sherlock held John's neck with enough pressure and opened his lips wider. John delighted to draw some reaction from his friend - lover? Partner? _Boyfriend?_ - pulled him closer. Their bodies were now pressed together from chest to thigh not leaving an inch between. John was sure Sherlock could feel his erection beneath thin cloth of his trousers.

Soon enough they were out of breath but Sherlock didn't move his hands anywhere, holding John close. John looked in Sherlock's eyes which were almost only wide blown, dark pupils. His lips were rosy red and desirably wet. His breathing was coming in huffs. John admired the beauty in front of him.

"Let's move to the sofa," John said softly against the cupid lips. The other man nodded in agreement. He took Sherlock's hand and guided him over to the sofa. He pushed the detective gently on it before climbing on top of him. John smiled as Sherlock hungrily pulled him to his lips. He felt heavenly as Sherlock's tongue licked his lower lip just like John had done before. He marveled in the sensation.

"I told you I needed him for important work," Sherlock said after some time of kissing, breaking the contact but not looking away from John's eyes.

"What?" John looked at the detective for a moment, confused.

"Michael," Sherlock murmured.

"What- I'm _John_-"

"Not you, idiot," Sherlock snapped and then shifted his gaze to the door.

When John turned to look back he saw Michael standing by the door, hands clenched in fists by his sides.

"Oh," Was all John could say.

"You sodding bastard," Michael cursed and turned about. Moments later the door to 221b snapped with a loud bang.

"That should wake Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock started laughing while John looked at the door and hysterical Sherlock. And then a very dreadful, very hurting thought crossed John's mind.

_Was it all planned to drive Michael away?_

* * *

**A/N:** I'm so sorry for not updating in a while. I hope the very first Johnlock kiss of the story makes up for it!  
Again, I sincerely thank **emmarahrah** and **vanillapeachtea** for favourating and **wikedmunsterkitty, Akochan97, EJ 12212012, TragicBlackButterfly, aku07, sKyLaR KnIgHt, BlackPanther1987** and a guest for reviewing! I love to read your reviews and it makes me write better. Thank you so much :3

PS. Did anyone else like John with mustache from the teaser of season3? Just me? Okay. *Sits in a corner*


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

John waited until Sherlock's laugh faded. Sherlock's left hand was still curled around John's waist holding him against his chest as they both lay on the sofa. John freed both of his hands which were tangled in Sherlock's curls and pushed himself up in sitting position. The detective protested with a moan and tried to grip his slender digits in John's jumper. Much to his distress, the doctor continued to move away. Sherlock lifted and folded his legs up placing one at the edge of the sofa and other thrown on the back rest, in an attempt to not let his flatmate escape his octopus-like limbs. John now sat in between Sherlock's incredibly long legs, his hands on the detective's thighs. With much effort he retreated them back to fold against his chest.

"Let me go," John said, his voice sounded more hurt than a cold one he would have liked.

"Why?" Sherlock's legs curled around John even tighter.

"Well, Mission-Drive-Michael-Away is accomplished, isn't it?" John spat. Sherlock legs tensed around John. "Wasn't this all about to drive Michael away? Well _done_," John struggled to free his body but in vain. Sherlock got up too. Their faces were mere inches apart and John realised the detective could see tears forming in his own eyes. He looked away to save further embarrassment.

"John-" Sherlock started but John interrupted before things get worse _and_ _he starts crying._

"Was it or was it not, Sherlock?"

"What are you talking about?" The detective narrowed his gaze, as if not exactly understanding John's reaction.

"Was it or was is not planned to drive Michael away?" John looked in the pair of eyes before him, feeling angry now.

"Yes, but-" John heard what he needed to hear.

"Let me go, Sherlock," John said calmly.

"Listen to-"

"LET ME GO," John yelled but instead of what he was told to do, Sherlock tightened his grip around him. His hands were now tugging at John's jumper.

"You don't know why I did this-"

"I don't bloody want to know," John snapped.

"I did this for both of us."

John laughed humourlessly.

"For _us_? Since when do you care about anybody else but yourself?"

"John, if you let me explain-"

"Then what? Then you'll do this again, drive every single person I know away from me just because you want somebody to fetch your _fucking phone!_"

"John, your adrenaline level is running high. Don't get worked up-"

"Yes, my bloody adrenaline level is running high! Guess whom to thank!" John could feel his heart thumping faster and this time it had nothing to do with the closeness with the detective. He struggled again against Sherlock's hold, slapping and punching to get away. But the younger man never moved but enclosed around him tighter, bearing all of the beating from his army doctor. After a brief struggle with no desirable outcome, John gave up. He closed his eyes, hoping it would help him forget the reality in front of him.

John felt cold fingers unfolding his clenched fist. He hadn't even realised his hand was fisted. He didn't open his eyes. The rough and exceptionally cold fingers slowly but firmly opened each of John's fingers and then his palm was gripped in another pair of palms, one above his and one under. John exhaled forcefully, trying desperately to calm his breath, when he felt Sherlock's nose nuzzle in crook of his neck. John involuntarily leaned into the touch.

"Don't leave me, John," Sherlock murmured. Sherlock breath was warmer, contrast to his fingers that wound with John's now. John didn't have heart to pull away.

"I did it for you too. For us," John closed his eyes tighter, living an eternity in every word the man next to him whispered. It was rare Sherlock speaking about his feelings and John knew this was one of those rare moments. "I've never felt.. _this_ before. I had no idea what to do with this _sentiment_, John. I had deleted it. Erased it from every part of my life. I was sure this was not an advantage. _I was sure_," John didn't know what the detective was trying to say but he didn't interrupt. "Then something changed between us. I don't want you to leave. I don't know what I'd do without you. I feel.. paralysed, John."

John opened his eyes. Sherlock had hidden his face in his neck. John took both of his hands to lift Sherlock's face. The detective looked tired. John wondered how much the man had struggled. Sherlock had never let his cold facade down and say things he actually felt. It just wasn't what Sherlock normally does.

"Look at me," John said softer now. Sherlock obeyed. "I'm not pushing you to do anything you don't want to do and I'm not leaving you, Sherlock. You have stop acting paranoid." He lifted their tangled hands to place the detective's palm against his heart. "We can take it slowly but this has to be healthier than paralysis," Sherlock lips curled a bit to meet John's smile. "Do you want to do this?" John asked and he was suddenly afraid of the detective's answer. He was afraid Sherlock would not want a relationship. He gulped down a lump that formed in his throat.

"Yes," Sherlock whispered and John face broke into a widespread grin. He leaned down to meet the detective's lips which on contact invited him in.

"You have, er, done this before, right?" John asked awkwardly when he broke apart to look at his flatmate, remembering how hr seemed to have no idea where to put his hands when they first kissed.

"Don't be stupid, John," Sherlock snapped. John relieved just a fraction of a second before Sherlock said next words nastily. "Of course, I haven't."

"Yeah, tha- _what_?" John stared at him flabbergasted.

"I have been thinking of this sentiment as a disadvantage all my life."

John swallowed in the new information. When his brain - which, John knew, was running with the speed of a snail because Sherlock was looking at him for past one minute with a face that clearly read 'you have such a tedious thinking capacity' - could find fairly appropriate words to make a statement, John blurted the question out.

"I'm going to be your first?"

"Are you playing stupid just to annoy me? Because it's working," John was too dazed to counter attack the insult.

"For God's sake, why is it an issue now?" Sherlock said, irritation leaking in his voice. John knew if he doesn't say anything in near future, the detective will probably throw something at his head just out of annoyance.

"No, no, it's not an issue," John continued awkwardly, "Have you ever, you know, had a wank?"

Sherlock scoffed.

"You have, haven't you?"

"If I said no, does that make things different?" Sherlock cocked his eyebrow up.

"You haven't wanked for-" John struggled with his math skills a moment, "36 years?"

"It's _masturbation_, John. Stop using slang. My ears burn enough watching stupid telly. And to answer your question, I might have unknowingly when I was in teens. Otherwise, male body has a perfected system to discard useless sperms. Although in my case all the sperms are useless." He sneered.

"_Jesus_," John's mind was getting fogged now.

"You have been staring at my penile area since this conversation started."

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Sherlock's '_Don't be'_ almost didn't reach John's ears when he continued. "Are you sure about this, Sherlock? Maybe we can start with primary things."

"Like?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, cocked his head to one side. John swallowed.

"Kissing?"

"I'm not a kid. Stop treating me like one," The way he pouted, he exactly sounded like one.

"You _are_ a kid in this area. We have to take it slow," John said more to himself.

"For God's sake, John, I'm not a kid! Just because I haven't done it, doesn't mean I don't know about it. You'd like me to prove, yes?" Sherlock continued without further intimation from his dumbfound flatmate. "Fellatio, irrumatio, feltching, cunnilingus-"

"Jesus, _stop_! I don't want you to prove you know this stuff!" John said cutting Sherlock halfway through his rant. But somehow the very rant was making his member stiff.

"The point is, I know this. Likely more than you do. And not only the names but complete science behind the terms. I may be lacking in practical knowledge, John, but that doesn't make me a kid."

"O-okay," John was having a difficulty to continue. "What do you want to do then?"

"I want to perform fellatio on you."

If John was drinking tea right now, he would have sputtered it with so much pressure that even the walls would bear stains.

"John?" There was no response. "Are you having a mid life sexual crisis? I knew it would happen soon given you just descovered the other side of your sexuality. But this is not the time. I'm about to perform fellatio on you."

"Stop," John voice was cracked when he spoke. "Saying that."

"But you like it, don't you, doctor?" The detective had dropped voice an octave below and his eyes were boring at a very particular southern area of John. "You get images in your mind, don't you, John, of _me performing fellatio?_" The detective moved a bit closer speaking directly in the doctor's ears. A shiver ran through John's body.

"Come on, John," The taller man purred and John felt a tongue very lightly brushing his earlobe. "Don't fight it. I've waited for so long. I want it. _You_ want it. I am an adult and I give you my full consent to do whatever with me."

And that was enough to crumble John's Wall of Morals. He hastily dug his fingers in Sherlock's hair drawing him closer and their lips met again. A moan escaped but John was too bloody busy kissing a gorgeous set of lips to care whose mouth it had come from. He hungrily kept kissing as if everything he had ever wanted was kept in the detective's mouth all along. He licked them, scraped with his teeth, bit lightly enough to leave a bit more reddish mark. His hands roamed tracing sharp edges of Sherlock's shoulder blades. He realised Sherlock was doing exactly what he did. His hands were kept on John's shoulders lightly, as if afraid of intrusion. John moved his hands down following his spine. Sherlock did the same a moment later. John smiled against Sherlock's lips. _The man is following my lead. _He lifted the other man's T shirt just a bit up and Sherlock did so too. John touched his fingers lightly on bare skin of Sherlock's. Just a finger was touched on John's back tentatively and retrieved back.

John broke apart and smiling he said, "You can touch me anywhere you want, love."

"I know I can," Sherlock said, defensive. His lips were tomato red and a tiny redder mark was visible right in the middle of bottom lip. John marvelled at the sight. "And why do you keep calling me _love_?"

John continued with laugh. "Exactly what I'm saying, Sherlock. You are not _ready_. People say love, darling, sweetheart when they, you know, make love. It's a sign of affection." John carried on talking ignoring Sherlock's scoff as the words _love, darling, sweetheart, make love_ were spoken. "You can't just do what I am doing. You need to give in," Sherlock's brow was arched up skeptically. And John had no intentions of finding out what Sherlock understood from _'give in'. _"There will come a time when we can't do the same thing at the same time to each other. Are you getting what I am trying to say here? Loosen up a bit." He rubbed his hands on Sherlock's tensed shoulders.

"Is anything bothering you?" John asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

"And it is?" John prompted, massaging the detective's back.

"I might not able to concentrate on sexual activities when there is Work." Sherlock stated.

John had seen this coming. He had presumed Sherlock was above all of this _ordinary stuff_, as he called it. But having him near, being able to kiss him was enough for John. At least at the moment. He was not going to worry what will happen when a case comes. Things might have changed or might not have. But this is what he wanted now and there was always wank - sorry, _masturbation_ - to relieve the stress.

"Like I said before, I won't push you into anything you don't want to do. There will be no sex, kissing when we're on the case."

"Kissing might work."

John suppressed a giggle. "Yes, they might when you want them. You just have bring your arse to me and press those precious lips on mine." Sherlock looked at him as if John were talking some disgusting language that could give him diarrhoea.

"Arse, John? _Seriously?"_

"The _point_ is," John continued, "We will wait until you are ready. Just tell me when you are. We've all the time in the world." Sherlock nodded as John got off the sofa. His aching erection made walking a tough job. _I need to wank_.

"And, John?" Sherlock called. John turned around. "You can call me love."

* * *

A/N: Well, I wasn't going to post till next weekend but the new teaser they just released brings me here early! This is not a beta'd version. All mistakes are mine.

Things will be getting hotter from here! Like it? Hate it? Let me know :)

**Lydesh, 09michv, TsukiyomiMoon, lavender elephants, Kokoleka** and **Canada-Matthew** thank you so much for favourating and **Fandemonium-in-the-streets, Lydesh, Mayle, MAFITA, A Speckled Brunette, Raeya, sKyLaR KnIgHt, Amy Witherboard, Sally, Em, KL08** and ** .mint** for reviewing! Everybody who's following *121 people OMG* I hope you all are enjoying as much as I'm enjoying writing it!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

John was in the middle of shower - and _wank_ - when the doorbell rang. In 221b, it was non negotiable rule that made John always the one to answer the door. This time his mind was flooded with Sherlock as he stroked his member. Sherlock pinching his arse, kissing him, his hands wandering around John's body and saying 'I want to perform fellatio on you.'

John was so close. Any moment now. _Oh God, I want Sherlock so bad._

The doorbell rang again.

"Sherlock, get the door," John yelled from the bathroom. Well, tried to yell but his voice came cracked and laboured.

"Mrs. Hudson, get the door," John heard Sherlock yell. The doctor frowned and with his member aching he made his way to the bathroom door.

"She's at her sister's, Sherlock," John said peeking out just a little. He made sure his erection won't touch anything. He didn't want the detective to see him coming behind the door.

Sherlock was sprawled on sofa with John's laptop on his stomach. He looked to smirk at John suggestively. "Get the damn door-"

"Oh I thought Mrs. Hudson would have heard your moaning session before," Sherlock said, not giving a rat's arse about now frantically ringing bell. To make things more chaotic, John's phone started chiming too.

"I wasn't the only one who was moaning!" John defenced but he wasn't sure if Sherlock could hear him over the chaos. "At least answer the phone?"

"It's your phone. I hate intruding privacy."

"_Yeah, right,_" John said and waited for Sherlock to get up. But he didn't. John sighed. He grabbed the towel from hook and wrapped it around his waist. His erection ached for more friction.

"Git," he spat as he made his way downstairs to open the door.

It was Lestrade.

"What you two were up to?" John could think of so many answers to that question. Instead he just swallowed. "I called. Nobody answered. Got a case Sherlock might like."

John's jaws dropped. _No, no, no! This is not supposed to be this way. I need to teach him to have sex. Go away, Lestrade! _John's mind yelled. His member was somehow more painful now.

"You need him now?" John asked as they started upstairs, disappointment filled his voice that even Lestrade couldn't overlook.

"Is it, er, bad time?" Lestrade said, looking at John, who was only in just a towel, apologetically.

"Ugh, No- I mean, we were just-"

"No, it's not, detective inspector. John hasn't yet sorted out his priorities among other things," Sherlock spoke getting up at once from the sofa and smirking at John and then looking at the front of his towel. The doctor flushed red. Lestrade looked at them both with a look of a lost child.

"Where?" Sherlock asked.

"An abandoned house in Sussex. Locals say it's haunted. Chief called in for you personally. We need to leave in an hour."

"Sussex?" Sherlock's enthusiasm dropped considerably that didn't escape John's notice.

"Yeah. I have already got the tickets for you two. I'll come later in the eveing. Need to sort some things out with wife."

"The Davis House?"

"Yeah, how do you know?"

"Not important. I can't take the case, inspector," Sherlock said with air of finality.

"What- no you have to. Chief called for _you._" He looked at John for some help.

"We'll be there, Greg," John said taking tickets from Lestrade.

"I'm not going, John," Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

"I'll see you later then?" John said talking to Lestrade instead.

"I'm not going anywhere," Sherlock raised his voice.

"Looks like we can't go to bar tonight. Maybe after this case?" John pulled Lestrade by his shoulder to the door as Sherlock yelled behind them.

"JOHN!"

Lestrade looked both at them questioningly.

"If you don't leave now, Sherlock's going to start throwing tantrums," John whispered to Lestrade as the detective kept shouting.

"Text me when you two reach there," Lestrade said looking unsure.

John bid the detective inspector farewell and turned to face the living room. Sherlock was standing by the window looking outside.

"Sherlock-"

"I'm not going, John."

"Yes you are and I'm coming with you," John crossed the room to stand behind the detective, caressing his tensed back gently. "What's the matter?"

"I don't like Sussex."

"Why? You grew up there, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"What's the matter, Sherlock?" John slipped from behind to stand in front of the taller man. "Won't you tell me?"

"I have spent worst time of my life in Sussex," Sherlock looked away.

"This time it won't be bad, love," Sherlock looked down at John. His eyes looked softer. John wondered if it was an effect of calling him _love. _"I'm going to be with you."

"They don't like me, John. People there. They hated me."

"You don't know that," John said cupping the detective's jaw in his hands as he tried to look away again. "When was the last time you were there?"

"Fifteen."

"There! Nobody would know it's you. Ordinary people like me forget things," Sherlock smiled down at him just a little.

"They do."

"So, we're doing this?"

"Back when I was 10, I had some theories regarding the house. Mummy wouldn't let me apply them," Sherlock said instead of answering John's question.

"This time maybe you can," John said smiling a little.

"Yes," Sherlock matched his smile. John patted his face wishing to kiss those lips but remembered the detective was on a case now and any sexual activity unless triggered by the other man was prohibited. He moved away from him making way to his bedroom.

"Get your clothes you want to bring," he said reaching the threshold. "I'll go get the suit-"

"You are disappointed."

_Oh boy._

"What?" It's wiser to play dumb when Sherlock deduces something John doesn't want him to know. _Experience._

"You are disappointed because we can't have sex now."

"Nah- no," John gave a feeble laugh. "Of course, not. No sexual thingy on case. I remember. That. It's_ fine_," John stammered. "It's all fine."

"John," Sherlock said.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for understanding."

John melted looking how earnest Sherlock' eyes looked.

"Don't worry. I'll be right back."

* * *

"What is that thing?" Sherlock said looking at John disgustedly. They were in cab, on the way to the station.

"What thing?" John looked down at his body. Jumper in place, jeans hanging by the belt, erection taken care of.

"The thing around your neck."

"What? This?" John asked pointing at his scarf. "What's wrong with my scarf?"

"It's covering your neck."

"So? It's cold outside." John said puzzled.

"Take it off. I don't like it."

"You wear scarf all the time! I like this scarf."

"I can't _see_ your neck."

"Why do you want to see my neck?" John asked innocently.

"I like to look at it. Take it off, for God's sake." Sherlock snarled. John without a word removed it and placed it between two of them. The very next moment Sherlock opened the window and threw the scarf out.

"There. You won't need it again."

* * *

John liked Sussex instantly. The Davis house was in the outskirts of the town. Silent, peaceful greenery surrounded the area, something that was very uncommon in London. They had lodging reservations at a decent hotel which John thoroughly liked given the free access to the bar. John walked to the reception counter and asked for their keys. Lestrade had already booked two rooms for them. Sherlock trailed behind standing in garden looking particularly at nothing. He had been unusually and unnervingly quite through the journey. John wondered when he had become _unnerved_ by the detective's quietness.

Sherlock didn't bother to look as John stood next to him.

"Key to your room," John held out the key in front of the detective.

"My room?" Sherlock looked cocking an eyebrow up.

"Yes, 508. Mine is right next to you. 509."

"Why do we have separate rooms?" Sherlock queried.

"I don't know. Do you, er, want to share bed?"

"Do you not?"

"Well, I don't really mind," John said. "But Lestrade will find out about it. About us, I mean."

"Is that a problem?" The detective gave him curt look.

"No! Of course not," John said a bit louder as if it could prove he means it. "I'd run down every street in London announcing I'm with you. Using those giant loudspeakers."

"I hope you will find way back to home." Sherlock said smiling just a little.

"Don't worry. I'll call Mycroft to send one of his shiny cars if I get lost," Sherlock cringed at the mention of his brother as if he had just tasted lemon. John laughed. Comfortable silence filled between them as John's laugh receded.

"Sherlock"

"Hm?"

"It's going to be fine. I'm with you this time."

"I know," And quite unexpectedly he reached out for John's hand and took it in his. John returned the pressure.

"Do you approve of public displays of affection?" Sherlock asked after a moment pulling John closer. "I would very much like to put such display on right now."

John's libido did a very happy dance as Sherlock rested his head rested on John's.

"Let's go to our room," John said quietly pulling Sherlock along. Sherlock obliged.

* * *

John opened the door to 508 and Sherlock followed him in. As soon as he kept their suitcases on the floor, he was twirled around by his waist, pushed back till his arse hit the door. The door clicked and locked. Sherlock without a minute's delay attacked John's lips. John, startled by the sudden enthusiasm, tried to push the detective back a little to get a better look at him but Sherlock pressed his body further into John. John struggled to keep from moaning. Sherlock grabbed both of the doctor's wrists and pinned them above his head. John couldn't take it anymore and let out a heavy, breathy moan.

It was like living his sexiest fantasy.

Moan charged Sherlock. He thrust his hips further and John could _feel_ something poking at his stomach.

Sherlock moved his lips to John's neck giving the older man enough time to breath. John stilled had his hands pinned above his head. He cried as Sherlock bit hard into his skin at the base of his neck.

"Sherlock-" John tried to speak. Sherlock was getting more violent every moment. He chose the exact same spot to bite again. John was sure it would start bleeding if things don't start to calm down a bit.

"Shut up," Sherlock said in a low, fierce voice. He moved his lips just above where he had bitten and bit the new spot again.

John never thought he would enjoy the pain this much. Sherlock seemed to know exactly what is to be done to make John aroused and wanting. It was hard to believe he had never done this before.

Sherlock left a trail of bruises from the base of John's neck to back of his ear. His final destination was John's earlobe and he teethed it too. Sherlock moved just an inch away from John to look at him.

"What was that for?" John breathed heavily, hands still above his hand. He wanted to touch the hurting bruises.

"The girl downstairs was looking at your exterior."

"Oh," was all John could say.

"We should get married. People need to know you are off the market," Sherlock spoke as if it was an everyday affair that they get married.

"Or _maybe_ you should know I'm not going to leave you for any other bimbo," John laughed a little.

"Not even for the doctor? Or one with nose?"

"Not even the doctor or one with the nose," John tried not to giggle.

"Michael?"

"Doesn't stand a chance," Sherlock's grin was spectacular. "Although I will need to clarify my earlier actions he sadly had to witness."

"You mean, me kissing you and you moaning like a cat?"

"No, _we_ kissing and moaning." John corrected.

"_Please,_ John, I don't moan."

"Yes, you do. I could prove it to you but since we're on a case and you're married to Work, this will have to wait."

"Well, technically Work hasn't started yet. We can't do anything until Lestrade comes."

"What are you trying to say?" John breathed, anticipating. His member was already hard.

"I say, I'm ready."

John internally danced.

"Are you sure?"

"Didn't I just say 'I'm ready'?" Sherlock said annoyed a bit.

"Okay." Sherlock let John's hand fall down and looked at him, not sure what to do now.

"We're going to do this my way. Do you agree?" John asked.

"What is your way?"

"Do you agree or not, Sherlock? I'm not going to hurt you, I can assure you that."

"_Please," _Sherlock retorted.

"Do you agree?" John asked again.

"Yes, of course."

"Good," He took a step forward towards the taller man. Cupping his face in palms, he gently kissed the cupid bow lips. Sherlock responded aggressively, a crude man as he was. He pulled John roughly to him, kissing with his teeth rather than lips.

"Take it easy, love. I'm not going anywhere," Sherlock seemed to relax a bit. John continued to caress the detective's lips slowly. He licked his bottom lip and teeth. Sherlock opened his mouth inviting John's tongue in.

Soon the kiss was all tongue and John held back from moaning.

"John, I need to.." Sherlock struggled to form a sentence.

"It's okay," John smiled. "I need you to lie down on the bed and then _I _am going to perform fellatio on _you_."

* * *

A/N: I know this isn't steamy as much as I'd have liked. But it will get hotter I promise D:

It's a non beta'd version. Mistakes are all mine.

I'd like to thank** romionemalecodestasprik, TearfullPixie** and** RedUnicorn82** for favourating and **Mayle, reflectiveless, Spirit Lily0, MAFITA, Raeya, Fandemoniam-in-the-streets, sKyLaR KnIgHt, Cumbergasm, 8of9, KL08, Sally, Amy, Guest** and **TsukiyomiMoon** for reviewing! I looooove to read what you guys have to say. It just gives me an extra push to stop procrastinating and start writing xD


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_"... and then I am going to perform fellatio on you."_

Sherlock stood rooted to his position while John pushed him gently back till the taller man sat on the edge of bed.

"You need to relax," John repeated tugging at Sherlock's buttons. The detective would have snapped at the repetition but he knew he indeed needed to relax a bit.

John stood between Sherlock's knees and smiled down at him. Sherlock stared back as his doctor started unbuttoning his shirt lazily. Sherlock impatiently looked at John in his ridiculous jumper and tried pulling it over his head.

"You want me to remove it?"

_Of course. Don't my actions speak loud enough_, Sherlock wanted to say but he found it difficult to produce sound except moans and whimpers.

John understood and pulled the jumper off in one swift movement along with T shirt he wore under, throwing the clothing aside. Sherlock looked at John's bare chest and decided the man looked better with clothes off.

Sherlock sensed John's awkwardness as he stood in front of him not sure what to do. His hands tried to cover numerous scars on his body. Sherlock kept staring at his flatmate taking mental notes of each and every mark, deducing what could have caused them. He placed his finger gently on one mark under John's left nipple and felt John shudder under him.

"Does it hurt?" Sherlock whispered.

"No. Your hands are _cold_," John shivered again.

The detective smiled an evil smile and pressed his cold palm against John's warmer skin. He saw john biting his lower lip trying not to moan. Sherlock was going to make him moan anyway, sooner or later. He pinched both of his nipples and twisted them gently and then again with more pressure, noting his left nipple was more sensitive. John threw his head back and held Sherlock for support. The detective looped both of his legs around John and tipped his head forward and grazed his teeth on his left nipple while his fingers pinched the other.

"God, Sherlock.. Where did you learn that?" John breathed. Sherlock just smiled against his chest at the praise. He drew both of his hands to the other man's belt and unbuckled it. Meanwhile his mouth never left his nipple. Sherlock unbuttoned and unzipped John's trousers and pulled them down. His boxers were doing not a great job to hide his erection. The detective placed his hands on either side of John's thighs deliberately avoiding contact with his poking erection.

"Jesus," John moaned.

Sherlock pulled John down against him on the bed and rolled them over so that John was below him with the detective on top.

"Who's moaning now, doctor?" Sherlock whispered in John's ear.

"You sodding.." John failed to complete the curse as he felt Sherlock's hand very, _very_ close to his erection. He moaned again. "More," John breathed.

Sherlock attacked John's lips. The consulting detective could feel the urgency in the kiss.

"Off.. Take off.. This," John said tugging Sherlock's collar. Taking the clue, Sherlock slipped off his shirt and trousers and again went to suck on John's lips.

"You aren't wearing pants," John said looking wide eyed at Sherlock's hardening member.

"Excellent observation, John. I figured this might save us some time."

"You figured it bloody fucking right," John said topping Sherlock now. He placed his mouth at the base of the taller man's neck and bit it hard. Sherlock cried in pain.

"This was for the times you let Molly Hooper flirt with you when you bloody well knew I hated to see you with her," John positioned his mouth on Sherlock's earlobe and bit in again. This time harder. "This for Irene _Fucking_ Adler."

Sherlock not being able to control anymore moaned as pleasure took over the pain.

"Should I record it to prove my point that you _do_ moan?" John said teasingly in Sherlock's ear. He had adjusted himself so as he won't touch the detective's erection. Sherlock thrust his hips upwards for more friction.

"Needy today, are we?" Sherlock heard John say as he left chaste kisses on his pale skin.

"John.." Sherlock whimpered. "Touch me."

"What did you say? I didn't quite hear it," Sherlock knew John was taking advantage of his vulnerability. He just kept thrusting upwards in his touch.

John must have taken pity because Sherlock's cock was held with perfect pressure by stubby fingers the next instant. The detective looked down and saw the other man flicking his thumb over the head. He noted every movement, every sensation.

"Ohhh.."

"You are beautiful," John said one hand stroking his shaft and other roaming around his chest. "You are _bloody_ gorgeous." And then John lowered his mouth to Sherlock's erection and took it in. Sherlock cried out loud, feeling the sensation for the first time. He lowered his eyes to see John working his mouth on his leaking member devotedly. His ash blond hair was clung to his forehead. He had his eyes closed and was humming something unintelligible but the vibrations made Sherlock want more and more.

He found John taking all of him inside his mouth, his tongue doing wonderful things to the head. Sherlock could feel pressure building in his testicles. Anytime now.

"Stop.." He said weakly but John stopped. He looked at the detective worriedly.

"Was that too much-"

"No, no, no.." Sherlock said between laboured breaths. "Together," He managed and pulled John by his neck till their lips met, urgent with desire. He could taste him on John's incredibly flexible tongue and that just aroused Sherlock more. He held John's cock in his fingers and did exactly what John's fingers had done to him some time ago.

John looking pleased and astonished and something very close to love-struck puppy kissed Sherlock and started stroking again. He too was leaking pre cum by now.

"John.. Close.." Sherlock inhaled sharply.

"Me too," and the next moment Sherlock was shouting John's name followed by John shouting his. The shorter man collapsed on Sherlock and held him tight as the detective struggled through his orgasm.

"I've got you," John whispered overcoming his own orgasm but still holding his flatmate close.

They waited until they caught their breaths.

"That was the best orgasm I've had in months," John said his voice still heavy. His fingers were making circles around Sherlock's nipple absentmindedly.

"I plan to give you more of them," Sherlock whispered. John kissed his shoulder. They shared comfortable silence.

"We need to clean up," John said trying to get up but Sherlock held him tight against his chest.

"Come on, up you get," He tried to struggle again against Sherlock's hold.

"Shut up and stay," Sherlock snapped with irritation.

"You are such a sodding git even when you ask for sex," John said settling against Sherlock again.

"Problem?"

"I'll manage."

"Anyway we haven't had proper sex yet, John," Sherlock said lazily.

"We had orgasms in each other's presence. That works fine for me. For now at least."

"Are you intending that you might never want to have anal sex?" Sherlock cocked his eyebrow. John coughed.

"Why do you have to be so specific about everything?"

"Okay, let me rephrase. Do you not ever wish to _do me?_"

John giggled.

"I very much wish to do you, Mr. Holmes."

"As I do too," Sherlock said smiling before closing his eyes.

* * *

When John woke up after a full hour. His stomach and thighs were sticky and itchy due to dried semen. He looked at Sherlock who was sprawled beside him, consuming three-fourth of the entire bed leaving John to adjust in one corner. The quilt was tangled between Sherlock's knees, leaving his snow-white pale body on display for John's pleasure. John sighed, still not believing this man, _this particularly beautifully intelligent man_, had never even had sex. He pitied the world of sex driven people for what they had all missed. But then instantly felt proud and possessive that the world's _only_ consulting detective wanted _him_ and nobody else. He smiled and kissed Sherlock's cheek gently.

He went to the bathroom, took a quick shower and came back to their suit with some hot water and a towel. Sherlock's breathing was audible even from a distance; quite, calm, peaceful. Everything that is opposite of Sherlock.

He settled on the bed near Sherlock, placing hot water bowl on the bedside table. He dipped towel in it and then began cleaning Sherlock's pale torso and his thighs. The man stirred under him. John smiled seeing Sherlock so vulnerable and yet so arousing. After cleaning his stomach and thighs, he moved to his cock. The cock itself had Sherlock's body peculiarities. It was long, slender and all sharp angles on the head. His dark, curly pubic hair had remains of semen clots. John carefully lifted Sherlock's cock a bit to clean pubic hair under. He stroked there till almost all the clots were gone. Dipping the towel again in the bowl he reached further down to his arsehole. John gulped down lump in his throat. When he had seen Sherlock's arsehole before, all he could think about was ways to get inside it. He wanted to put his finger inside. His stomach did a flip imagining how he can experiment with it. But no matter how ready Sherlock says he is John knew he needed more time. And if things were going to be the way they were happening since this morning he had nothing to complain. He stroked the detective's arsehole. Sherlock trembled under him.

"John," He spoke, his voice still deep with sleep and _so fucking sexy._

"Right here," John said reaching up to kiss him squarely on lips. Their lips wandered around each other's languidly. John pulled back to see marks on Sherlock's earlobe and then at the base of his neck. They were turning faint shade of purple. He sensed Sherlock's fingers tracing trail of love-bites he had left on John's neck.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave marks," John murmured.

"Yes, you did."

"Not for Molly, maybe. I know you just use her for your work," Sherlock smiled evilly."And that's not a good thing," John warned. "But this mark right here," he said touching his earlobe. He had left it thinking of how The Woman _used_ and _flirted_ with this man- _his man._ "I want everybody in this fucking world to see it and know you are taken."

"Are you a jealous kind?"

"Maybe a little. More of possessive," John said winking.

"I'm not sure I like that term," Sherlock said.

"Get used to it," John said launching on the cupid bow lips. And found them responding with equal enthusiasm.

"You don't have to mark to claim me," Sherlock whispered against John's lips. "Nobody else holds my interest even in fractions of what you hold for me."

"Whoever thought you could not be romantic?" John said grinning.

"Just stating facts."

* * *

Lestrade dumped his bag in the elevator and pressed 5 a bit harder than necessary. He mouthed curses when a woman in the lift told him the elevator doesn't stop at the fifth floor due to some technical problem. A kid hanging by the woman's fingers looked at him wide eyed and then at his mother and exclaimed, "He said bad words!"

Lestrade, irritated, excused and got off the elevator on the second floor and decided to climb the stairs. Everything had gone wrong today. His wife had given him divorce papers to sign. She was going to take kids away to her boyfriend's and though he understood she'd be a better parent than him, he was so used to seeing them everyday it was sure as hell he going to miss his chaps. Moreover the alimony she was demanding had knocked shit out of him. For once he hoped she gets married to that bloody bastard and leave him in peace.

And now the receptionist downstairs had told that only the room 508 was taken and 509 was returned. That only meant either Sherlock or John was here, and Sherlock without John can be an insufferable bastard and John without Sherlock was, well, not really going to help him solve the bloody case.

He reached the lobby of fifth floor and located 508. Dragging his bag behind him, he stood in front of the door. He knocked on the door loudly.

"Can't you see the 'do not disturb' label hanging? Go away," he heard Sherlock snarl from inside. Well, that's a relief. Sherlock's here and all he had to do for next few days is listen to the consulting detective's insults. That he can manage.

"Open the bloody door. I had told you to text me when you reach," Lestrade yelled. His voice echoed in the deserted lobby. A man passing by glanced at him. Lestrade didn't care and kept pounding on the door.

There was some rustling of clothes and murmuring- _Sherlock's got somebody in there? Oh God, show some mercy_- and then brief efforts with the latch. The door swung open.

"I had told you to inform-" He stopped dead.

Sherlock was smirking and shifted just a little to his left so Lestrade could see he was indeed not alone in the room.

"Hello, Greg," John said standing just behind him in towel- it was the second time he was seeing the doctor in towel around Sherlock and he wondered how he had not seen this coming earlier- he was scratching his head awkwardly. Lestrade tried- _oh he did try hard- _not to look at Sherlock's torso which boasted remains of some white, milky fluid. His imagination began conjuring images and before it got out of hand he shook his head trying to think about anything but evidence dancing before him.

"We were going to tell you officially, but you know, never got time," John said. "If it helps it happened in the morning."

"Before I came to 221B or after?" Lestrade said, curiosity dripping in every word. John opened his mouth to say something. "No! Don't tell me. I don't wanna know. _Fuck_." He muttered and started turning away.

"Lestrade?" Sherlock called as Greg kept walking away.

"Leave me alone, Sherlock. We start the case tonight," He added.

"Your suitcase. Are you intending to leave it here at the doorstep. If you don't want it, can we have some condoms?" John hissed behind him. "What? I forgot to pack them. You have any, John?"

"For fuck's sake." Lestrade turned, grabbed the bag and practically ran away from two of them. He was in for really, _really_ tiring days ahead.

* * *

A/N: _Now_ things are getting hotter! :D

Like it? Hate it? Review please!

Not a beta'd version. Mistakes are all mine.

**GrumpiestCat, Jack-Frost13, VitaManere, Kiku Honda of Japan, TsukilmaiChan, cummberbitchin, Benaddicted2 Cumberbatch, kell young, RhineElle, PrincessNala, DarrenChrisGleek, Eowin Symbelmine** and **xXMarshmallowNrainXx** thank you for favourating!

**Mayle, Raeya, reflectiveless, Fandemonium-in-the-streets, KL08, NMK, Roxie221B, Say Hey, sKyLaR KnIgHt** and **guests** thank you so much for reviewing! Everybody single person who's following the story, you guys make my days! *Offers CumberCookies to everyone*


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

John knocked nervously. He could feel Sherlock's impatience as they stood waiting for Lestrade to open the door. The detective had spent most of the afternoon stating theories about the Davis House while John tried to catch on sleep in between. Whenever his eyes drooped and Sherlock noticed, he'd throw a pillow at him and snarl at the lack of attention. John would apologise and after some time the cycle would repeat.

When Sherlock was talking something about somebody's undershirt he had found on the fence of the Davis House and John was struggling with all his strength to keep eyes open, John's phone beeped. It was Lestrade asking them to come to his room so they could discuss the case later that evening. John agreed and now they stood before the detective inspector's door.

Lestrade opened the door and John gave him an awkward, feeble smile. Sherlock not minding the pleasantries pushed Lestrade aside and entered.

"Listen, Greg, I know the case is important to you and we will not let anything come in between."

"How would you manage to do that?" Lestrade asked tiredly, evidently not believing.

"We, er, sort of made a pact."

"What pact?"

"Erm-" John stood awkwardly at the door as Lestrade waited for more explanation. "We, er, will not, you know, have any- what do you say -sexual activity until the case is over."

"_Jesus,_" Lestrade shouted covering his ears. "Why do you keep telling me such things?"

"You keep asking!" John shot back defensively.

Lestrade shook his head, hands covering his ears, went straight back into the room. John followed. He pulled his collar a little up in an attempt to hide the bruises on his neck. He was glad they weren't noticed as yet.

"Alright, you two," He said once he got them settled, John sitting on the couch and Sherlock by his side. John fought the urge to wrap his fingers around Sherlock's which were impatiently tapping on his lap. "This case is important. I'm assuming you have some theories, Sherlock, but you _do not_ go off on your own. You take me with you everytime you have to investigate or visit the house. I will not allow leaving me behind this time. Is that clear?"

"Seriously Lestrade, is that why you called us here? John and I have better things to do."

"And that. _Stop doing that_. No innuendoes when I'm around. _None whatsoever_. You do whatever you want on the other side of the wall."

"We need no consent of yours for that," said Sherlock and before Lestrade could say anything more, the consulting detective spoke. "I gather John has told you already but I might as well add we will not indulge in sexual intercourse but that doesn't mean kissing won't be there," Sherlock said indifferently. John shot him a furious look. "What? I thought he should be warned. Ordinary people don't like surprises as such unless they are the one in action."

"_Sherlock,_" John warned and Sherlock shut up for once. "Greg, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Thank you," Lestrade muttered looking red as a tomato.

"So what do we know about the Davis House?" asked John happy to change the topic.

"Elizabeth Davis, 45 years old, widow, no children, magically disappeared on 13th January 1989. It was Friday the 13th, _doomsday_ as they call it. People say she was taken by Satan. Body was never found. And since then the house is haunted or so the locals say," Lestrade handed them photographs of the house. Sherlock dismissed waving his hand, so John got hold on it. It was an ancient Victorian house. It was a mansion really. It was not in a spectacular state but John imagined the house would have been beautiful in its days. John looked at Sherlock who had a far-away look in his eyes. He wasn't sure if the detective was listening at all.

"Why is your chief interested?" Sherlock asked suddenly. John was shifting in his seat trying not to draw attention to trail of love bites on his neck. They were itching now and the doctor had fisted his fingers to avoid reaching out to them involuntarily.

"Chief's daughter, Nina, was here on Wednesday with her friends. They were told about the Davis House and dared to spend one night there. They did but later she was found on a bridge, scared to death, hasn't spoken a word since," Lestrade informed.

"How many friends?" Sherlock inquired.

"Three in total. Nina, her best friend Ashley and Jason. Ashley left early because she was scared. So it was just Nina and Jason."

Sherlock stapled his fingers to his chin losing himself in thoughts.

"What about Jason?" asked John.

"Not found yet."

"Did they find anything on searching the house?"

"Couple of condoms. Used. We're running tests but most likely belong to Jason."

"So they were romantically attached then, Nina and Jason?"

"So it looks. Ashley has none idea whatsoever about them being lovers."

John looked at Sherlock for some explanation. Nobody spoke for a while.

"What about Mr. and Mrs. Thomas?" asked Sherlock.

"Thomas?"

"The caretakers of the Davis House, John," Sherlock replied without looking at John. "Weren't you listening to my theories?" John smiled sheepishly.

"The caretakers don't live there anymore. But they have a house somewhere nearby."

"What do we do now? Got any plans, Sherlock?" John asked.

"Yes. We go to the house."

"When do we leave?"

"7. I gather John would want to change into something that covers his neck. Most likely he is embarrassed by the love bites on his neck."

Lestrade stormed out of the room.

"I'm not embarrassed, you know," John said quietly when after changing into a turtleneck sweater.

"You keep hiding the marks," Sherlock replied.

"It makes Lestrade uncomfortable. I told you, I'm not embarrassed by you. In fact I'm anything but embarrassed."

John crossed the room and wrapped his arms around the taller man's waist. Sherlock, hesitantly, reciprocated the hug. John sighed.

"Is this too much?" he asked, slackening his arms a bit to look at the detective.

"No," Sherlock pulled him closer and buried his nose in the blond man's hair. John placed a small kiss on his flatmate's chest.

"We need to go, John," Sherlock said but didn't drop his arms.

"I know."

They stood there for long minutes. John didn't move and neither did Sherlock. He inhaled Sherlock's scent realising this was where he belonged. All the meaningless relationships he had had before Sherlock had felt so right at the time. But having Sherlock wrapped around him, he knew this was something he had wanted all along. He loved this man. And he was afraid to tell him.

John hopped out of the car as it stopped before a massive gate. Sherlock was already at the gate, pushing it open. It creaked loudly. John followed wordlessly. Somewhere to his left he heard Lestrade talking to one of the cops guarding the house.

A small walk through the gate and John saw Sherlock crouching down some feet away.

"John, look at this."

Sherlock was pointing at a huge footprint.

"Is it a human's?" John asked. It did look like a human's but it was more flattened and webbed.

"Size 15, I'd say. It looks more like a duck's."

If the haunted Davis House wasn't spooking John enough, he would have laughed till his stomach ached at the massive footprint of a duck.

"A duck?"

"Look at the webbed toes. But the heel and arch look like human's."

John tried to imagine a creature with half of his body like a duck's and other human's squeaking around the ancient house.

"What have you got?" Lestrade asked. John jumped at the unexpected noise and shrieked a little. _Very manly_, John cursed in mind.

"Look at this footprint." Lestrade peeped over Sherlock's shoulder.

"Whose is it?"

"A duck's and some of it is human's."

Lestrade laughed ridiculously loud. John could tell he was imagining the same creature. It was funny, really. John joined the detective inspector in laugh. Sherlock shushed them both in irritation.

"Quite. We don't want to scare our ghost away," Sherlock whispered.

"I'm sorry," Lestrade said suppressing the giggles. "How's it even possible?"

"That's what we're here to find out. Come on, John," he grabbed John's hand and dragged him till their bodies bumped against each other. Putting his arm around John's waist, he started towards the Davis House. _He's really touchy these days,_ John though, _I'm not complaining!_

"Hey, I'm here too!" Lestrade said behind them jogging to keep up.

John looked up at Sherlock. His cheeks had a faint red glow to them. His breath forming fog around his nose. He looked like a Snow White in the chilly air.

"What?"

"You look like Snow White," John breathed inching a bit closer.

"_Please_," Sherlock said. "Who's Snow White anyway?"

"Never mind," John laughed.

"I'm not deaf, you know," Lestrade pouted from behind.

"Try to be."

Sherlock let go of John's waist as they reached the threshold. John reluctantly stepped aside. The sun had set and it was dark. There was hardly any sound. The wooden oak door in front of them was huge matching the house's largeness.

"Who's been here since the death of Elizabeth Davis?" Sherlock walked to one of the windows and peeped inside.

"The caretakers. They come every month since the owner died to clean up, even though nobody lives here. Apparently before Mrs. Davis died she made them swear them that they will take care of the house. Why do you ask?" asked Lestrade and followed where Sherlock was crouching a bit to look inside the house. His arse was sticking out as he looked through the lower window. John took pleasure in the view. _Only if he could caress his bum..._

"_Ahem,_" Lestrade coughed loudly. John tore his eyes away from Sherlock's arse to look at Lestrade, finding he was in fact looking at him. John mouthed _sorry_ and walked away from them. He found another window and looked inside. He could see a huge sofa, some chairs, tables and a grand piano pushed against one of the walls. The furniture looked antic and expensive but all covered in dust. He couldn't see much as the only light source was the windows.

"We need to get in," Sherlock said. Lestrade produced a key and wordlessly opened the wooden door. The door made loud noises and then thudded open against the wall. It was all dark inside. Their cautious footsteps were the only noise they could hear. John followed Sherlock and Lestrade silently through the door. It was dark, cold and John hated to admit but a bit scary. His heartbeat was picking up and he felt the familiar haste inside him. He felt oddly relaxed in the adrenaline rush.

Sherlock moved away from the two and searched the walls till his fingers hit the lights on. John could see the living room almost now in a single bulb's light that was hanging from the high ceiling in the middle of the room. The carpet was thick below their feet and coated with dust. Most of the furniture was covered in white sheets to save from getting dust on them. The fireplace's frame was carved. On a closer look John saw pentagrams looped between carved twigs and leaves and flowers on the frame.

"Sherlock? You'd want to see this," John whispered. Sherlock was there within a second. John pointed to the pentagrams and looked up to him. His lips pulled in a slow, devilish smile.

"Pentagrams."

"Yes. Aren't those a sign of Satan or something?" John asked his lips almost touching the detective's neck as they stood close together. Sherlock grabbed John by his forearms and turned him around. Before John could recover from the swirl, he found Sherlock's lips crushing down on him and they were gone within seconds.

"Brilliant, John," Sherlock said, leaning down again to place a kiss on John's blushing cheek. Lestrade groaned loudly from behind.

"Really?" John asked incredulously. Sherlock grabbed his arms and pulled him to the middle portion of the room. Pointing to the carpet he continued, "Pentagrams here too. The way Elizabeth Davis is dressed in the photo," he whirled them around and pointed at a picture above fireplace, "looks like some kind of witchcraft ritual, doesn't it?"

"So you're saying she was a witch?" Lestrade asked.

"Looks like it, doesn't it?"

John looked at the photo carefully. Elizabeth Davis- a broad shouldered, manly faced woman - was wearing a black robe. In the background he could some lit candles. She looked mysterious in the darkened, soundless house.

"John, come here," Sherlock yelled from somewhere behind him. The doctor tried not to jump at the echoing sound of his flatmate. He looked around to see Lestrade was already standing by Sherlock's side.

"What?" Sherlock pointed at the dusty stairs. On taking a closer look, he saw impression on the dust as if somebody had sat there and the dust below was cleared.

"When was the last time Tomas couple was here to cleanup?" asked Sherlock.

"Three weeks ago."

"Looks like someone's been visiting the house after them."

"It could be one of the kids."

"No, _these_ buttock here are not of a kid's. They are round and curvy hence belongs to an adult. Someone in late thirties."

"You can't possible know for sure!" challenged Lestrade.

"Look at John's posterior! It curvy and round, though the muscles are taut due to military-"

"Jesus, Sherlock, _stop_!" John hissed furiously. Lestrade was wide eyed, incoherent to utter a syllable. "Behave," John muttered.

"I observe, John. That's what I'm here for!"

"Just stop. Please," John urged and looked at Lestrade who was pinching his nose bridge looking completely out of patience.

"Do you have any idea of who might it be?" Lestrade spoke after some time. He looked as if he wanted to run far away from Sherlock.

"I have some ideas, three ideas, to be precise. I think you'll get the killer and the kidnapper by tomorrow," Sherlock said matter of factly.

"You know who the killer is already?" John asked, astonished.

"I have theories since Mrs. Davis was disappeared. Mummy didn't let me interrupt the investigation. I'm practically working on the case since then. I just need to find the connection of the three kids to this house. There has to be something."

"Hang on. So you knew Elizabeth Davis?" a confused Lestrade asked.

"Of course."

"She was into witchcraft, then?" John asked.

"I was informed but wasn't sure."

"Who is the killer then? Assuming she was killed?"

"Someone very obvious."

"Do you mind being more elaborate?" Lestrade muttered through his teeth.

"Tomorrow. I can't allow myself to say anything here. The killer might be here with us."

"So what do we do now?" John queried amazed at Sherlock's intelligence. Only a half hour in the house and the case was solved.

"We go back to the hotel." Sherlock said pushing them both aside and started walking to the door when some strange sound halted all three of them in place.

"Do you hear that?" John whispered and Lestrade nodded.

As the source of the sound approached them in the dark, John could hear the clinking, as if coming from a bell, clearly as if metal pieces were being hit together lightly. They were almost at the door, Sherlock standing alert behind Lestrade and John. Lestrade had pulled his gun out so had John. He held it high in one hand while other hand protected Sherlock, shoving him behind his back. The clinking sound stopped abruptly before them roughly three feet away. Lestrade looked at John by his side just to confirm all three of them were there. Some minutes were spent in silence, John's palm was sweating and his heart beating faster. The door behind them started to creak and close causing all of them to turn around. Before they could dash to the threshold the door closed with a loud bang. The clinking sound was going away towards the staircase. Sherlock without further delay was at the door trying to open it. But it seemed as if the door was bolted from outside. Lestrade and John, terrified as they were started pulling the door but it didn't budge. Sherlock went to the window and peeped outside as John and Lestrade continued with the fruitless efforts.

"STOP RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!" Sherlock shouted. The window was open and Sherlock was yelling as his chin rested on one of the bars of the window. Lestrade hurried to where Sherlock stood followed by John. John could see a stubby man's silhouette disappearing in the bushes. Sherlock dashed to the door and pulled at it again. It opened just a bit enough. Through the slit they could see bolt shaking vigorously in its place as Sherlock kept diddering the door.

"Lestrade, shoot!" ordered Sherlock. Lestrade complied and shot exactly at the junction where bolt held the doors together. It fell down in pieces with a loud bang. Sherlock pulled the door aside and ran out towards the bushes where the man had disappeared.

"Sherlock, stay behind. You're unarmed," John warned as they ran through the clearing. They were almost at the edge of the bush but Sherlock didn't stop. John gripped the detective's hand in his and pulled him back and entered the bush first.

There was no sound but rustling of leaves as they walked through the bushes. The outgrown plants around were poking them but they kept going, sweeping away the branches coming in the way.

"He's gone. No point going further," Sherlock declared his voice coming in huffs.

"Who was he?" Lestrade asked between laboured breaths.

"The killer or the kidnapper. Or both. I want to ask few questions to Mr. and Mrs. Thomas. And the girls. What were their names again?"

"Nina and Ashley," John spoke. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

"We can do that tomorrow," said Lestrade not noticing the non verbal conversation between the other two. "I don't think Nina will be much of a help. She hasn't spoken a word."

"She will," Sherlock said turning away and walking straight out of the bushes. "Leave me alone for some time. I need to think. John, I apologise for the disappointment I may cause tonight. Case isn't fully solved."

"Here you go mate," bartender said handing John their beers. John took them and walked to where Lestrade was sitting by the corner in the hotel's 24/7 bar.

"So, you and Sherlock, eh? How's it going?" Lestrade asked trying to sound casual.

"You've seen. He's the same stubborn arse he was," John said shaking his head but smiling fondly.

"It was expected."

"What was?"

"That you two would get together eventually."

"Was I so obvious?"

"Not just you," Lestrade said taking mouthful of beer in. "He was too. He stares at you when you're not looking. And you stare at him."

"I never noticed," John sighed. "In fact, I never noticed my bisexuality for 38 years."

"You're kidding!" Lestrade exclaimed.

"Nope! That revelation sort of got us together. Do you know Michael?"

"The new head from the forensic?"

"Yeah, he asked me out. And Sherlock got jealous."

"No!" Lestrade's mouth formed a perfect 'o'.

"Yep. He got jealous and right when I was about to go out on a date with Michael he snogged me_. In front of him_." John said sipping his drink.

"I thought Sherlock was asexual," Said Greg, shaking his head as if to clear some space for this bizarre information.

"So did I. Turns out he's not."

"Yeah, seen it enough in a day," Lestrade scoffed before gulping in some more beer. "What did Michael say? Punched Sherlock I imagine."

"He stormed out. I never got a chance to set things straight," John sighed, placing the drink away and burying his face in his palms. He felt really, really bad for being such a dick to Michael. "He isn't receiving my calls, doesn't reply to my texts."

"Take my phone. Call him," Lestrade said pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"He wouldn't talk to me. It was so bad. We were lying on the sofa with Sherlock below-"

"No details, _please,_" Lestrade said covering his eyes. Apparently he was too tipsy to understand he needed to cover his ears to disallow hearing or he was conjuring the images of Sherlock and John doing it. John couldn't understand which it was.

"I'm not sure he'd talk to me," said John feeling guilty.

"He wouldn't be thrilled, I can assure you. But you need to apologise on your and Sherlock's behalf someday."

"I guess you are right," John picked up the phone and hit call on Michael's contact.

"Hello, detective inspector," Michael spoke after two or three rings.

"Hello, Michael. Before you hang up just hear me out," John said and looked at Lestrade for reassurance that he was doing alright. Lestrade gave him a bit too cheery thumbs up.

"Who's it?" Michael sounded doubtful now.

"John. Please don't-"

"Bye-"

"-hang up," John spoke hurriedly. "Please. _Please_. Just hear me out."

"What do you want to say now?" Michael's sound was coming fierce now.

"I'm sorry. You were not meant to see that-"

"Oh, I get it! So you were going to date me and keep _snogging _your flatmate too. I was a cover for your relationship, wasn't I? How clever of you," spoke Michael. He wasn't even trying to hide his anger anymore.

"It's not like that. It just happened suddenly and I didn't know what else to do," John said. His voice was a bit harsher too. Lestrade looked at him, eyebrows arched. John took a deep breath before speaking again. "Look, I'm sorry. I really am. It wasn't my plan, I assure you. You weren't a cover."

"So are you saying you didn't know how to _push him away?_" John didn't speak. He was not ashamed of being with Sherlock though how they had started wasn't the best of the situation.

"Are you done?" Michael growled.

"No," said John but he didn't know what to say next. He looked at Lestrade helplessly who was mouthing something like _Sherlock._ "Oh yeah and Sherlock says sorry too. He didn't mean to do it."

"He's not sorry. _He_ was snogging _you_ in front of _me!_"

"He is sorry, believe me. He's here with me," John looked at Lestrade and continued. "Sherlock, say sorry to Michael."

Greg clung his neck to chest in a futile effort to make his voice deeper like Sherlock's and then said, "Hello, Michael. I'm Sherlock Holmes and I'm sorry."

John looked at an evidently drunk Lestrade and shook his head at the idiocy of it all.

"He sounds so much like Lestrade," Michael stated flatly. "You know what, I'm going to hang up now. Goodbye, Doctor Watson."

"Wait-" but Michael had already hung up. John placed the phone back on the table. And looked up to see Lestrade trying to balance the beer glass on his nose and lips.

"So you got divorced then? Wonder why."

* * *

A/N: Hello dearies. To start with this is not what I had on my mind when I started writing the story. I wanted to write plain Johnlock but yeah, this is what I came up with. If you find it too cheesy please let me know. I would love to hear your suggestions for this chapter particularly.

The chapter's longer than usual. Blunders are all mine!

Reviews would be dandy ;D

**Mayle, FireBreathingNinja, Cluvsw, Mrs Winchester-Dixon, Salitice, Wholockedizbest, Drunken Strawberries** thank you sooo much for favourating! Kisses!

**birdie7272, WL Chastain, Fandemonium-in-the-streets, Mayle, reflectiveless, FireBreathingNinja, Raeya, Lydesh, 8of9, EJ 12212012, sKyLaR KnIgHt, Wholockedizbest, Sally, MAFITA** and **guests** THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH! I LOVE READING REVIEWS AND YOU GUYS ARE GORGEOUS! :3

Quick question, I am writing a very kinky johnlock along with this and I'm not sure if I should add in this fic or make a complete different one shot. It involves a certain consulting detective, a doctor and a violin, btw ;D


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Sherlock stayed sprawled on the king sized bed in his and John's room. He was sure he'd find John and Lestrade wasted in the hotel's 24/7 bar by now. When he had declared he wanted to be alone he was not considering spending time _without_ John. He needed John to listen to his theories, say he is amazing and intelligent and fantastic to puff up his ego. But John took different hint and dragged the detective inspector to the bar as Lestrade kept pestering Sherlock to tell him what he had deduced. As if he was trying to avoid Sherlock.

After 2 hours and forty eight minutes of dreading silence (which wouldn't have bothered Sherlock before John), the consulting detective heard footsteps in the lobby outside. Two men; one pair of footsteps distinctly John's, soft thumps of leather shoes against the wooden flooring and other pair of feet was being dragged with an effort; Lestrade's. There was some mumbling _and giggling, _but content unclear which Sherlock couldn't make out from behind the closed door. He sat up in anticipation. Finally John was here. His insides quivered involuntarily. The feeling was quite familiar since the doctor came in his life. _Sentiment?_ He crooked his nose at the word.

Sherlock heard John's footsteps, slow and heavy, drawing Lestrade. The pair halted right outside their door for a moment. Sherlock hoped John wasn't planning to bring Lestrade in their room. He was in bare minimum clothes that he was sure John would not be thrilled to have Lestrade see him in. But John didn't stop to open the door. He kept hauling Lestrade to his room and after half a minute the detective inspector's room opened and closed. Sherlock walked- well _ran_- to the door. _Did John just go to Lestrade's room?_ Sherlock too dazed to decide whether to go to the next room, stayed rooted by the door.

_Why would John go to Lestrade's room of all?_

_Was it because I refused him sex? _

_Was I not sexually enough for him?_

Realisation stuck Sherlock like a thunder. He had to fix this.

* * *

"Greg, _come on_," John breathed trying to yank him by the shoulder. "Right there's bed, Greg. No- no, no. That's the carpet. Don't sleep there-"

John pulled Greg by his shoulder where he was lying on the carpet and with some more pulls and pushes dumped him successfully on the bed.

"-yew are a nice maaan, Jawn. Yew take care of meeee. M-my wife- she was a beautie, I tell you, Jawn. T-The first time-" Lestrade giggled and blushed before continuing, "we had sex- it was"

"For the hundredth time, Greg, _try not to talk about sex_!" John yelled but Lestrade continued his story with a graphic description. He pushed the inspector on the bed and pulled quilt over his limp body.

"Your phone is right here on the nightstand. Call me if you need me. Okay?" John asked blabbering Lestrade.

"Yew know, Jawn?"

"I don't want to know," John said shaking his head. Lestrade had been describing his sexual escapades and John wanted nothing but to run away as soon possible. "_Sleep_." He retrieved a water bottle from the coffee table.

"Yew are good for Sh-Sherlick," John laughed at _Sherlick_ while fumbling through his pocket for aspirins he kept with him. Greg continued, "I-I wonder if his brother-_wats hez name? _- Microft is single. He looks hawtty in suits-" Lestrade said last sentence in sing a song voice. John covered his hands over ears.

"Greg! Shut up for God's sake and sleep," The doctor had reached his maximum level of tolerance and Mycroft and Greg's images together doing _things_ which Lestrade was blabbering about weren't helping. Eventually his voice receded to mumbling something unintelligible for which John thanked unknown deity. The inspectors eyes started drooping close but he still bore an idiotic smile on his face.

John left as noiselessly as he could. He rubbed his left shoulder standing before his room. All he wanted to do was crawl in his bed, try to forget what an arse he had been to Michael and sleep since sex was not an option. He sighed in exasperation before reaching to knock on the

door, sure that Sherlock would be awake. But before his knuckles came in contact with the door, door swung open and he was yanked in.

* * *

Grabbing John's wrists, Sherlock pulled him inside. He saw John's eyes widen as they met his. His mouth open in bewilderment, about to say something but Sherlock didn't give him a chance. He pushed the blond man roughly against the door, clicking it close. Their mouths crashed and John moaned. Sherlock forced his tongue in, licking insides of John's mouth, tangling and untangling with John's tongue. It wasn't erotic at all. It was Sherlock searching and destroying Lestrade's presence from John's - _his_ John's - mouth. He looked for Greg's tobacco stale breath but didn't smell anything except stink of cheap beer mingled with John's distinct sweet smell that the consulting detective was getting addicted to.

John's hands were pulling him closer as Sherlock kept on looking for more evidence. His fingers rolled down John's back to his arse to yank him in as his tongue slid past John's. John made a nearly suffocating noise and that's when Sherlock realised John's hands were no longer pulling him but pushing him away. He backed just an inch away to look at the shorter man.

"Sherlock" He sighed heavily, trying to catch his breath. "What.. What was that for?" John's voice was coming in huffs, his eyes wide blown. Sherlock carefully looked for any sign of guilt or secrecy on his face but found only arousal. "I almost f-fainted."

Sherlock ducked down. Sliding the fabric away from John's neck, he bit the man. John yelped as Sherlock bit on the same spot he had bitten before.

"I'm clean," Sherlock murmured against his skin. He sensed John's arousal poking at his thigh as he pushed the man further against the closed door.

"W-what?" Sherlock could feel John was trying to make sense of what Sherlock was saying.

"I don't have STDs or other infections," He said sucking on John's earlobe. "I am fairly certain you don't have any such infections either, owing to the fact that you haven't had sexual intercourse in last two months. I intend to indulge in sodomy activity." he said before unbuttoning John's trousers and unzipping in swift motions. Sherlock placed his one hand on John's straining erection and hooked his thumb on the waistband of his boxers. John moaned at the contact. Sherlock's lips caught his in a breathless kiss. The detective started to pull down John's boxers but John's hand grabbed his tightly. Sherlock broke the kiss reluctantly to look at him

"T-the case?"

"Almost solved," Sherlock said and attacked the other man's lips again, avoiding eye contact. John stopped him.

"What did you do?" John asked suspiciously narrowing his eyes.

"Nothing," Sherlock said defensively. "I'm only satisfying your need. You don't have to go to Lestrade from now on."

"What?" John pushed him back so the consulting detective was at an arm's distance. Sherlock looked down in his eyes. He felt angry. Angry at Lestrade. Angry at John.

"What did you mean _I don't have to go to Lestrade_?" John asked. He looked undecided and hurt.

"I can take care of your sexual needs. We don't have to wait until I'm ready," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly, disguising his anger. "You don't have to go to Lestrade or anybody else."

"You think I turn to _Lestrade_ when I want to have sex?" John asked, his own fury not quite hidden anymore. Sherlock chose not to answer and stared at the man coldly. "Why the _fuck_ would you even say such a thing?" John's voice was rising with each word.

"You went to Lestrade's room because I said no to any sexual activity until the case is solved."

"I didn't go to Lestrade's room because I wanted to have sex, you moron! I was only putting him in bed because he can't bloody walk!" John yelled.

"Oh," It was the only response Sherlock could think of.

"Oh? _Oh?_ You seriously thought I was cheating on you?" John asked. Sherlock kept quite and looked down at his feet. John zipped up his trousers. Sherlock understood he was about to walk away.

"I'm new at this, John. I don't understand why I want to be close to you all the time. I don't understand why I want to murder when the receptionist looks at your arse the way nobody should but me. It's... _annoying_." Sherlock said looking away from him. Moments passed in silence. Sherlock waited for John to walk out or a punch to collide with his face.

Instead John crossed the distance between them and pulled Sherlock's face down to kiss him squarely on lips.

"I knew you were going to be possessive," John said smiling lightly against his lips.

"You are not helping, John." John laughed a little.

"I'm not going to sleep with anyone else, Sherlock. You can relax," he said smiling a bit and rubbing Sherlock's tensed shoulders until the taller man nodded.

"We wait till you are ready, okay?" Sherlock nodded and bent down to kiss John's lips again. He didn't understand why he felt like kissing John again and again. But he didn't mind at the moment.

"You said _arse_," John said giggling a little after they parted to breath air.

"No, I _didn't_," Sherlock said, fighting a grin that threatened to spread on his face.

"Yes, you did," John said stepping away after kissing him last time. He pulled up his jeans from thighs where it was dangling and headed to the bathroom.

"_Please_, John. Your lust for me has spoilt your hearing skills." He heard John delightful laughter before the door to the bathroom closed shut.

* * *

John walked out of the bathroom, rubbing towel over his wet head, to find Sherlock fully suited lying on the bed, legs crossed, hands in praying position. Their little meeting at the door had made John hard and wanting. He realised mere sight of Sherlock was able to make him hard. His patience was wearing thin. But it didn't matter as much as it used to because at the end of this emotional - and so much _physical_ - turmoil, Sherlock was the prize.

He sat gingerly on the bed beside Sherlock's lean, motionless figure. He tossed his towel aside and got under the covers, not minding being just in boxers knowing their so called friendship boundaries were crossed anyways.

He closed his eyes waiting for sleep to come, wondering if Sherlock was asleep. _I could really use some cuddling right now_, he thought sighing in exhaustion. He questioned whether Sherlock was a cuddling kind of person. He wanted to be close to the man but wasn't sure whether and when he would be welcome. Sometimes the detective would be all _touchy and feely_ and the next moment he wouldn't even remember John's presence. John knew he needed more time to adjust to their new relationship. After all it wasn't even 24 hours old.

John's mind drifted from thought to thought until it came to Michael. He had been avoiding to think about it because the genius next to him seemed to know every single thought passed his mind and he didn't want to awaken the volcano of Sherlock's possessiveness after knowing the consulting detective was thinking he was cheating on him just because he had gone to Greg's room for not more than 15 minutes. But now as Sherlock was asleep he let his mind wander.

God, he _hated_ himself. He didn't want Michael to witness them making out. He was excited with the prospect of their date after accepting his bisexuality. Michael had every right to be angry and now John was guilt trapped. He for once envied Sherlock's indifference to feelings, sentiments.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock's voice broke the silence.

_Oh crap._

John cocked his head to side finding Sherlock looking at him intently. He wondered how long Sherlock had been staring. _Had I fallen asleep?_

"Uh- nothing," John said cutting the eye contact and closing eyes again, wishing Sherlock wouldn't read too much on his face.

"Your shoulders are tensed," Sherlock stated. John tried to relax his shoulders, never realising the tension; "Your eyebrows are furrowed," John immediately stretched his brows; "Your breathing pattern is not normal," John started breathing deep; "And you just said something unintelligible in your sleep and then very distinctly, _Michael_."

John daren't open his eyes. They both waited for the other man to speak.

"Am I not compatible, John?" Sherlock's voice was so small that John was unsure if he heard him right.

"That's not it," John said, not opening his eyes.

"Why do you keep needing to go to somebody else?" he sounded so hurt that John's guilt felt an enormous burden in his chest.

"I talked to Michael on phone today," John waited for response. When there was none, he rolled on his side to face Sherlock. He was silent as ocean, his face betrayed no emotion. "To apologise."

"Why do you need to apologise?" Sherlock asked, his brows furrowed in confusion clearly not understanding the purpose.

"I was going on a date with him, Sherlock. And then he sees us _kissing_. I had to apologise," Sherlock looked defiant before neutral facade took its place. "I'm not asking you to apologise."

"What did he say?"

"He asked me why I didn't stop you if that wasn't what I wanted."

"Why didn't you?" Sherlock said after a long minute of silence. His eyes were boring into John's while John searched for a reasonable answer but not finding any. Saying that he loves him would have done nothing but freak Sherlock out. He was hardly believing that the detective had agreed to be with him. And after telling him that he had spoken to Michael to apologise, he didn't want to jeopardise their relationship further.

"Good night, John," Sherlock said and rolled out of the bed in one swift movement.

"Wait-" Sherlock stalled by the bed, his back facing John. "I'm sorry." John said thickly, not sure what he was apologising for. He heard Sherlock exhale forcefully and walk out of their room.

* * *

When John woke next morning, he found bed beside him uninvitingly cold. He opened eyes in slits to take a look around their sunlit, empty suit.

"Sherlock?" John's voice was thick with sleep. His head throbbed- thanks to the booze and only couple of hours of sleep and endless worrying as Sherlock stalked out of their room never to return through whole night. He propped himself up on elbows sweeping his hand through duvet until it found his phone. There were no unread messages or missed calls. He typed a quick message to Sherlock.

_Where are you? -JW_

After waiting fruitless fifteen or so minutes for reply, he got off the bed and headed to the bathroom. When he came back to check his phone, there was still no response.

_I know you are reading this. Where are you? I'm starting to worry. Don't make me call Mycroft. -JW_

He called Lestrade next.

"'Ello?" Lestrade answered in a groggy voice after many rings.

"Greg, where's Sherlock?"

"Dunno. Just wakin' up. Why?"

"He's not here. Since last night."

"Goddamnit," Lestrade cursed. "I had _told_ him not to go alone without me."

"Yeah, well, it's Sherlock. I'll ring up Mycroft. See if he knows about his whereabouts."

"_No!_" Lestrade almost shouted in the phone. "I mean, I'll call Mycroft. Give me a minute." John stifled a giggle.

"Alright. Take those pills I kept on the nightstand. Meet you in a half hour."

John hung up. And then dialed Sherlock. He was well aware of Sherlock preferring texting but he was worried about him being in danger, more than to care about his disciplinary rules.

"Sherlock Holmes," The consulting detective answered after several rings as curtly as ever. John was sure he had debated whether or not answer. _Threatening to call Mycroft always works, _he thought.

"Where are you?" John asked.

"Thomas residence." John took his time to remember who Thomas were.

"You're already there? Did you go in?"

"I'm about to. Do you have any important issues to discuss? I'm rather in a hurry."

"Yes. You are not going in. Wait till we get there. We're on our way," John slid into his jeans, struggling with its fly while his phone was wedged between his shoulder and ear.

"You haven't even left yet. I'm going in."

"No, don't! We'll be there shortly. Wait. Lestrade won't be pleased."

"Of course," John could taste venom in Sherlock's voice. "_Lestrade_ won't like it."

"I'm sorry for last night, Sher-" Sherlock hung up not letting him complete his apology. John hung his shoulders down, burying face in his palms. Sherlock was being ridiculously possessive. John hadn't expected their relationship would be easy. But it was like they haven't entered the early honeymoon period of it at all. A sharp knock on the door brought him back to reality.

"Coming," He said pocketing a small notepad and pen. He swung open the door to find Lestrade's tired face grinning at him a bit too brightly.

"I called Mycroft," He said, still grinning stupidly as if he had achieved a great honour calling the elder Holmes brother. "Sherlock's at-"

"Thomas residence, I know. I just called him too," John closed the door behind him and started to the elevator.

"What does he do exactly? Mycroft, I mean," Lestrade spoke trying not to show too much interest. John looked at him and grinned teasingly. Greg added hurriedly, "Not that I care. Just...wondering."

"He's practically the British Government."

_And soon you'll be his queen,_ thought John smiling inwardly.

* * *

When their car hit the mud patch leading to Thomas Residence, John could see Sherlock leaning against a tree, head bent down and smoking. John sighed. They will have to go all the way into the rehab process once again from the start. The worst part of it was, the rehab disallowed even John smoking. The car halted in front of the tree where Sherlock stood and John immediately got out.

"You smoking? Hadn't you given up?" Lestrade asked as soon as he climbed out of the driving seat.

"Sorry, _father," _Sherlock replied curtly before throwing the cigarette's butt on the ground and crushing it.

"What's with him?" Greg asked John. He just shrugged. Without a further word Sherlock walked to the front porch of the house. It was a two storey wooden house with a huge front porch with a swing just by the door. The house wasn't something mere caretakers would own. It was too huge and too splashy and definitely expensive.

Lestrade knocked on the door standing in front of John and Sherlock. John was glancing at Sherlock every few seconds who determinedly was looking anywhere but him. The door creaked open and a man in his late fifties appeared.

"Can help you, gentlemen?" He asked pleasantly.

"Detective Inspectors Greg Lestrade from Scotland Yard," He said, fumbling through his pockets for something. "Where the hell is my ID?" He mumbled irritably. John saw Sherlock sliding his hand in his pocket and pulling out something resembling Greg's ID and held it out in front of the detective inspector. Greg looked at the card and snatched it from Sherlock's pale, slender fingers forcefully. He shot him a deadly look before turning to the door again.

"Here's my ID," He showed it to the man briefly before pocketing it carefully in his chest pocket. "I believe you are Alfred Thomas?" The man nodded. "These are my colleagues. John Watson and-"

"Fernando Scott," Sherlock said cutting in. John threw a confused look at him but Sherlock remained perfectly neutral.

"Well, right. Would you like to come in?" The man asked smiling warmly. He held open the door. Sherlock being never the one with etiquettes, dashed inside without much of a glance to the man. Greg followed him shrugging and John looking apologetic. John found Sherlock in a huge living room wandering about. His sharp eyes clearly observing and deducing what John couldn't see. The room was spacious with fire place in the middle of the wall opposite, wooden flooring covered with thick, rich carpet, plush sofas and chairs. The house gave a feeling of richness in every piece of furniture. The man closed the door behind them.

"Would you like some tea? My wife is brewing a cuppa for me." Mr. Thomas asked. He was a short man, almost the height of John's. He reminded John of Mr. Bristow, a very warm old man who lived down the street where John grew up. John used to help him manicuring his lawn for which he would get bread and jam with hell lot of tip for a fifteen year old.

"Tea would be lovely," Lestrade said. He too looked pleased with the hospitality as he settled in a cosy armchair by an open window allowing warm sunrays sneaking in. Alfred Thomas hurried in the kitchen.

"What are we doing here?" Greg asked Sherlock. When he didn't answer- apparently too busy looking at a picture of the Thomas couple on the mantelpiece- Greg looked at John for some explanation. John shrugged and settled on the sofa.

"You two been fighting already?" John chose to keep mouth shut. He was happy Alfred picked that moment to enter the living room with a tray boasting cups and saucers and some biscuits. A woman, clearly his wife, followed him with equally delightful, smiling face. She was a bit taller than her husband. Her brunette hair was pulled back in a bun.

"This is my wife, Susan," said Mr. Thomas. She handed everyone tea cups, some biscuits before settling down next to her husband on a cosy love seat.

"So I guess this is about the missing boy?" asked Mr. Thomas with concern. "I had told those kids not to test fate. Young blood. There's hardly anything you can do, ya know?"

"So you met the kids before they went to the house, Mr. Thomas?" asked John taking out his notepad and pen.

"Please call me Alfred," he said. "And yes, I did meet them. They weren't the only ones who sneaked into the house before, ya know. Mrs. Davis had warned us over and over that she wouldn't like anybody else to be in the house after her. I don't care what people say; she was a decent woman." He said shaking his head a little. His wife took his hand in hers and patted tenderly. "She was a witch, Mrs. Davis. But never did anything to harm anyone. Nice woman, Mrs. Davis."

"So tell me, Alfred, why were you a prominent suspect when she disappeared?" Sherlock asked.

"I-I don't know," Alfred stuttered. "They blame housekeepers first, don't they? And besides, Mrs. Davis had left everything for us after she died. Makes us suspects, doesn't it?"

"But why _you_ were a suspect and not your wife?" Sherlock asked moving towards the duo and sitting elegantly on the couch by John's side. John found the room getting hotter all of a sudden.

"I-I don't know how to answer that," said Alfred. His forehead had broken sweat. He looked oddly uneasy. His calm, loving behaviour melting into defensive demeanour.

"Wasn't that because you had forgotten your undershirt on the house's compound wall and your fingerprints on the same wall after you climbed it and escaped the night Mrs. Davis was mysteriously disappeared?" John looked at Sherlock questioningly. He saw Lestrade bearing the same look but Sherlock chose not to say anything. Susan gasped at the new information.

"How do you know that?" Alfred stood up at once, glaring down at Sherlock who was calm as if they were just chitchatting about the weather. Lestrade and John stood too. Lestrade moving towards Alfred while John inched closer to shield Sherlock. "Who are you?" Alfred asked through his teeth.

"Mrs. Thomas, were you aware of your husband's fingerprints on the compound wall?" Sherlock asked shifting his gaze coldly to her. She shook her head slightly looking flabbergasted.

"This is outrageous!" Mr. Thomas yelled, his wife yelped and moved a step away like a frightened little kitten. "You come to _my_ _house_ and _accuse_ me of Eliza's murder? How bloody dare you!"

"If you had paid attention a little, I never accused you of Mrs. Davis's murder, Alfred," Sherlock said standing on his feet turning his coat collar up.

"You-you bloody bastard-" John saw Alfred launching himself in Sherlock's direction. John immediately shifted in front of Sherlock and shoved Alfred away with one hand and kept other on Sherlock's chest firmly. Meanwhile Lestrade went behind Alfred and pulled him away from Sherlock, his hands gripped his shoulders tightly.

"Mr. Thomas if you try to attack anybody in this room again I'll have you arrested. Is that clear?" Greg said pushing Alfred's fuming body on the love seat where he had been seated before. John looked up at Sherlock to make sure if he were hurt but the taller man hadn't even flinched from his position. His hands were deep buried in his coat's pockets, collar standing up and eyes betraying nothing. John reluctantly dropped his hand from Sherlock's chest. After a while he heard silent weeping of Susan Thomas from the corner.

"Who bloody are you to blame me for a murder?" Mr. Thomas snarled.

"Sherlock Holmes," His mouth quirked up in a smirky smile. John saw Susan snapping his head up at the name. Her cheeks bore tear stains, her eyes had lost sparkle they bore before.

"You-You are Yvette Holmes's son," Alfred spoke, looking bewildered.

"Mycroft Holmes's younger brother?" asked Susan eyes wide with astonishment. Sherlock exhaled an insufferable sigh.

"What are you doing here?" Alfred asked. But now he looked plainly terrified instead of angry for some reason.

"To solve a cold blooded murder and a kidnapping case."

John saw Alfred's fingers shaking slightly. Susan stood far from the men. Her face was now buried in her palms, her shoulders shaking; she was obviously sobbing again.

After a minute Lestrade spoke, "You'll need to come down to the yard for questioning, Mr. Tho-"

"No, no. There's no need. I'm sure perpetrator will turn in eventually." Sherlock spoke. "We're done here, Lestrade. Let's go." And with that Sherlock walked past Susan to the front door and disappeared outside. John jogged behind him with Greg trailing after.

"So Alfred Thomas killed Elizabeth Davis? _And_ kidnapped the kid?" John asked as they walked in their car's direction.

"I didn't say that," Sherlock answered. John felt a moment of relief that they were still on talking terms.

"So he isn't then?" Greg asked matching John's footsteps.

"I didn't say that either," John saw a tiny I'm-the-smarty-pants smirk on Sherlock's face as he unlocked the front door of their car and slid in behind wheel. John hurried to the other front door before Lestrade could reach there.

"Wait- how did you get my keys?" Greg asked. "For God's sake, Sherlock, _stop pickpocketing me!_" John saw Sherlock smirk again.

"You were famous around here, eh?" Lestrade asked Sherlock.

"Hardly. You saw their reaction." Sherlock said meeting Greg's eye in the rear view mirror.

"What had happened exactly when Elizabeth Davis died?" John asked. Sherlock didn't look away from the road as if John hadn't spoken at all.

"I was 11 when she died. Cops had taken Alfred Thomas into custody. But he was proven innocent," Sherlock spoke after a long minute. "I tried to interfere. I found the undershirt on compound wall close to Elizabeth's bedroom's window. It was Alfred's. Obvious. Nobody took me seriously. I dusted the compound wall and even found Alfred's fingerprints. Cops threw me out and that's when Mycroft and Mummy interrupted. I was close. So close."

"You knew how to dust?" Greg asked astonished.

"Obvious."

"Not so obvious to me," John said. Sherlock chose not to reply.

John's gaze wandered about Sherlock's pale face. He controlled an urge to tangle his fingers in dark mop of his hair.

"So where to now?" Greg asked.

"Hospital," said Sherlock. "To meet the Chief's daughter."

* * *

A/N: I'm soooo sorry for not updating in three weeks. My high school mate committed suicide and I had to rush down to my hometown to attend his funeral. It's the last place you want to be, trust me. And then I was stuck with writer's block that lasted more than two weeks. I'll update the next chapter in couple of days.

You're likely to find tons of typos and grammatical errors since it is not a beta'd version. Feel free to mention in the reviews.

So, **Faeris-Ultima, smorr4eva, Kikiliki, krissy7490, daveamy87, jilldesantos, kristengawdloveme, Mewknight** thak you so much for favourating the story. It means a lot to me! :3

**Mayle, WL Chastain, Fandemonium-in-the-streets, KL08, elahe, reflectiveless, sKyLaR KnIgHt, 8of9, Elphe, EJ 12212012, Sally, Amy Witherboard, Martha, Raeya, AmyW, MAFITA, wholockedizbest, wikedmunsterkitty, Mewknight** you guy have no idea how much you helped while I was being too depressed to write. I'd get an email of your comment it did take my mind off the dreadful things for a while. Your reviews were highlight of my day. Thank you so much!

Also thank you **A Net** **Phenomenon,** my facebook friend for recommending the story to her amazing page! Thank you, girl. I adore you :3

As I'm done with today's thanking parade, I'll leave you to hate or love the chapter. I think it was shitty at some places. I'll try to fix it.

Reviews are love :3


End file.
